


Forgive Us Our Trespasses, We Know Not What We Do

by Wolfshadow17



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapping, M/M, Psychological Torture, Slow recovery, Suicide Attempt, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, all the feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfshadow17/pseuds/Wolfshadow17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betrayals committed in the name of good intentions are still damning. Or, the long road in which Tony has to learn to trust his team again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Because We Wanted Things the Way They Were

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following AvengersKink prompt:
> 
> "Tony betrayed, Team Angst, Attempted suicide - A while back I read a fic for another fandom in which the main character is imprisoned for his own safety. 
> 
> So what I want is: A telepathic villain makes threats against the Avengers, specifically Tony. SHIELD and the Avengers decide that Tony is safer not knowing about the threat, because he'd go off on his own and try to fight the villain. SHIELD comes up with the idea to place Tony into a room with protected walls against telepathic attacks, essentially isolation. SHIELD agents do a in-the-middle-of-the-night kidnap thing and Tony doesn't know why this is happening to him. The rest of the Avengers are reluctant but ultimately agree. It won't be anything like Afghanistan, Tony will be getting three meals a day and no one will be hurting him. He'll be fine right?
> 
> Tony needs interaction, he needs to ramble and to tinker and to create. He's not only isolated, he doesn't know why he's there and he thinks his team is going to come and get him. But they never show and he starts losing it. So, the only logical thing to do is to hurt himself, so he can get some medical attention, and if he happens to die in the attempt, well, that works too.
> 
> He's elated to see the Avengers in the hospital. Until he discovers that they knew. What happens next? Does Tony ever forgive them? 
> 
> Lots of angst and guilt, happy ending is OPTIONAL!"
> 
>  
> 
> Time is very fluid in this story, with multiple flashbacks, time skips, half-truths and skewed perspectives.

Steve disagrees from the moment that Director Fury begins the long and elaborate explanation. He can see through Fury’s words, the extraneous details and the subtle subterfuges.  
  
“He deserves to know,” Bruce states simply, cleaning his glasses furiously, clearly upset.   
  
“You know Stark. If we tell him, he’ll chase after the threat on his own. That’s what he wants, we’d be playing right into his hands.”  
  
Bruce glares at Natasha, “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to know?”  
  
“Tony and I are very different people. He’ll act recklessly, and he won’t rest until he catches the villain. You know how he is, how he gets. This threat is telepathic, not physical. We wouldn’t be able to protect him.”  
  
That's the heart of it isn't it? Not losing Tony. That's the goal, the endgame. Bruce sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances at Clint. The archer has been uncharacteristically quiet because this issue resonates on something painful. It's been a year and half since Loki, but, Bruce mulls, does that kind of thing ever really go away?

He offers no more opposition.  
  
“Shield-brother Stark will be well looked after in this containment?” Thor asks, turning his sharp gaze on Fury.  
  
“The room will be well furnished, with a master bath. Three meals a day, including dessert.”  
  
Clint's grin is weak, “Sounds like a vacation. Wish I could get some of that.”  
  
Natasha hits him on the arm and Steve allows himself a small smile.  
  
Everything would work out. Tony would understand.

Steve will not let his team fall apart.  

* * *

The first thing that Tony does when he awakens in the strange room is to get up and test his mobility.   
  
His muscles feel a little sore, his nose irritated from inhaling the sleeping gas but other than that, he is fine. Well, as fine as a person can feel after being taken out of his own home in the wee hours of the morning for no reason.  
  
He tries not to think of why JARVIS didn’t respond, tries not to remember how he couldn’t even make it to his desk, where the bracelets that could call his armor to him were.   
  
The second thing he does is inspect his surroundings.  
  
The bed is comfortable, as are the sheets and the pillows. The floor is some sort of steel metal alloy, as are the walls and the ceiling. There are no windows and the tiny vents are far too high up to reach.   
  
A desk in the corner, a chair, no lamp and definitely no computer, no TV. The drawers reveal paper, pens and permanent markers but nothing else.  
  
The bathroom is similarly barren. Just the basics that he’ll need for proper hygiene.  
  
There is no door anywhere but Tony doesn’t panic.  
  
He’s not in a cave.  
  
He’s not dying.  
  
He’s part of a team now, he’s an Avenger and they’ll come for him. Just like they went after the Red Skull for Steve, Bullseye for Natasha and Clint, Doom for Thor and A.I.M. for Bruce.  
  
It’s his turn now, his own little test and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pass it with flying colors.  
  
All he has to do is wait. They’ll come for him.


	2. In Our Minds' Black Eyes We Waited

 Tony wonders what he must look like. It isn’t too hard to imagine, as all the eyes on him are full of pity and regret and oh, fuck it all. He doesn’t need this shit.

  
No, what he needs, what he really,  _really_  needs is an actual vacation. Maybe he’ll go to Italy. Australia is nice this time of year too, and Japan has always been a favorite.   
  
His attention to the others comes crashing back when Steve steps closer, no doubt intending to put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
He moves away clumsily, his usual, strutting grace lost, run off with the majority of his muscle mass and his appetite.   
  
“Hands to yourself, Rogers. I don’t need your coddling. Shoo. Be gone. Skitter off to your peanut gallery over there, they’re missing you already. Just look at Barton’s face. Classic separation anxiety. Romanov will tell you all about it.”  
  
Their faces are pinched. He knows his tone is acerbic at best.  
  
“Tony–”  
  
“Actually, I’m digging Mr. Stark right now, Dr. Banner.”  
  
He knows his pose, what it has been reduced to anyway, is downright hostile but he can’t bring himself to care. God, this little meeting has got to be one of his worst ideas. But it was this or no magic signature from Dr. Samson so he stands there, grits his teeth and just smiles like its his fucking  _job_.   
  
“You have to understand–”  
  
And he blows. Like a damn volcano because Captain America did not just say that, the fucking  _bastard_.

“Oh, I _understand_. I understand perfectly. I’m a fucking genius remember? You did what you had to. I get it.”  
  
“Brother Stark, we’re attempting to apologize. We took too long in the capture of your foe.”  
  
Clearly Thor is as oblivious as everyone else, because it’s not about the damn villain.   
  
“You know what? I don’t need your apologies. In fact,  _I’m_  sorry. I’m sorry that I’m such a reckless little shit that you thought you had to ‘contain’ me. I’m sorry that you find me so unreliable and I’m sorry that I’m such a loose cannon that you didn’t have any other choice.”  
  
He’s trembling with rage and when the hell did that happen? Christ on a fucking crutch he needs a drink because this clusterfuck of a situation doesn't merit sobriety.   
  
“And I’m so,  _so_  fucking sorry that I misconstrued everything we were. Everything we were supposed to be. Because you know what? I though we were coming together just fine, making our own little fucked up family, but I was obviously wrong and I’m sorry that you couldn’t measure up to my delusions. So, forgive me and fuck you.”  
  
He walks out then because he has nothing left to say. Because if he stayed in there they might see how far he’s fallen, how the jagged edges of him fit together worse than before.   
  
He shoulders past Coulson, uncaring. The same attitude he’s adopted with Pepper and Rhodey. Because none of them did anything and he doesn’t know if he can forgive them for that.

 

* * *

  
_Official Transcript of Post-Op. Evaluation: EXCERPT 001_   
  
_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_[Silence]_   
  
_Samson: Mr. Stark, do you know why you were contained?_   
_Stark: …to keep me safe, I take it._   
_Samson: Do you remember how long you spent in containment?_   
_Stark: [pause] 3 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days._   
_Samson: You’re aware that your sense of time may be…skewed?_   
_Stark: I’m aware. But I have a great internal clock, despite what others may think._   
_Samson: Mr. Stark…you hurt yourself while in containment. And yet you claim to be healthy. Are you or are you not a danger to yourself and to others?_   
_Stark: [laugh] Seriously? You get straight to the point, don’t you? Well, I can appreciate some honesty at this point [silence]. I didn’t get any demands, any threats. I needed an out and I thought, well why the hell not? All other ideas fell apart pretty easily. Plus, you know, I was feverish. I got sick. I just expedited my visit to medical is all._   
_Samson: You gave yourself a serious concussion and head trauma. You had to be put under for a week to allow the swelling in your brain to go down. Mr. Stark, you smashed your head against a wall. Repeatedly._   
_Stark: It was logical. It made sense. I’m out now. Necessity satisfied. Besides, you know my history don’t you? I’ve always been a danger to myself and to others [laugh]. And to property. Especially to property._

 

* * *

 

Arriving at home doesn’t have the effect he thought it would. The Tower had been too oppressive, and now the feeling has leaked to his Malibu mansion. It’s a feeling that crawls across his skin, a thousand tiny prickles that dig into his flesh. It’s familiar from his stint in Afghanistan. 

“JARVIS?”  
  
“Yes sir?”  
  
“I need a vacation. A very discrete vacation.”  
  
“Of course sir.”  
  
“Are the suits in the safe location?”  
  
“Yes. Per specifications, they’ve been locked down until further notice.”  
  
The plan in his head is about to be placed into action but he pauses.  
  
“You know I’ll upload you again when I return, right?”  
  
“Sir, I will be traveling with you. Your StarkPhone is well-equipped to handle my data.”  
  
“Yeah, but this isn’t fair to you. This is your home too you know. And Dum-E and Butterfingers and U…it won’t be fair to them either…”  
  
“They will understand, sir.”  
  
Tony just nods, taking one last look around his lab. He glances at his watch.  
  
In a few minutes, a remote virus will be uploaded to SHIELD databases. Fury will launch an alert to the Avengers.  
  
And him?  
  
In all the commotion, no one will have time to notice that Tony Stark has disappeared.

* * *

_Official Transcript of Post-Op. Evaluation: EXCERPT 015_   
  
_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_Stark: Well, I got a nice vacation out of it I guess. And I learned important life lessons._   
_Samson: You believe that the experience has had positive consequences?_   
_Stark: Oh sure. Loads. Heaps._   
_Samson: Would you care to elaborate?_   
_Stark: Not particularly but I’m guessing that if I don’t, you’re going to tell on me to Fury, huh?[pause] I had time to think about who I was. Planned out a whole new batch of upgrades to the suit too. So it wasn’t wasted time. I also had some sort of reconciliation with my dad, with how he was._   
_Samson: Your father? Do you believe you saw him?_   
_Stark: It was probably when I got sick. Fevers will fuck up your thoughts. Worst trip ever to be honest. I realized that what he used to tell me was true. I realized that I’d gotten complacent, gotten too tied up…you want to know what the most important thing I learned was?_   
_Samson: Mr. Stark–_   
_Stark: I was fooling myself. Some fucking genius huh?_

* * *

 

It’s Coulson’s idea to watch the tapes taken while Tony was in containment.  
  
The videos are spread out, non-linear at best, but Coulson assures them that they haven’t been edited or otherwise tampered with.  
  
Clint chooses a conference room well separated from the usual hustle and bustle of the Helicarrier, and so they sit down as a team, or, more accurately, what’s left of it.   
  
The time that Tony was away was…brutal to say the least. They missed him, they all honest to God missed him and they’d caught the son of a bitch and Fury had told them that there was a decompression period where Tony would slowly be processed out and receive a clean bill of mental and physical health.  
  
It had been one day, just one more day…  
  
They’d gotten the call in the middle of the night.  
  
Tony had been moved to the intensive care unit.  
  
So now they sit there, as Coulson inputs his password and the video begins, trying to figure out where everything went wrong. 

* * *

_Official Transcript of Post-Op. Evaluation: EXCERPT 006_   
  
_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_Samson: Mr. Stark… do you believe that your team acted according to what was necessary?_   
_Stark: [long pause] I do, actually. They did what was needed._   
_Samson: Would you have acted in the same manner?_   
_Stark: I’m not following, doc. You’re going to have to explain yourself._   
_Samson: Would you, Mr. Stark, have taken the same actions? Had one of your teammates been threatened, would you have approved their containment?_   
_Stark: [pause] yeah…I guess [pause]…no. I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have. I just…I don’t know if you’re new to the rodeo, but me and authority aren’t exactly best friends. Friends even. Or passing acquaintances. I…wouldn’t have been able to follow through I think…Wouldn't have been strong enough._


	3. What Next? Well, You've Killed Animals Before

_Day 13_

  
_Tony realizes that no one is coming. At least not yet. He has to wait a little bit longer. It’s not that hard. It’s not. He has food and a bed and a shower. No way to shave but it’s okay. He’d always wanted to know how he’d look with a long hobo-beard._   
  
_His fingers are itching to do something, to create, to tinker. His mind’s running itself in circles but so far its manageable._   
  
_No demands yet and all Tony has to do and sit back, let the Avengers do their job._

* * *

_Day 25_   
  
_Tony realizes that no one is coming._   
  
_Sometimes he wonders what’s happened to stall them. Sometimes he wonders if they’ve been hurt._   
  
_Some nights, he lays there, in the painful silence, and wonders whether they’ve forgotten him already._

* * *

_Day 36_   
  
_The pressure inside his head hurts so he sits on the floor, head against the cool wall, leaning on his desk. It’s fast become his favorite area of the room._   
  
_His fingers itch and he’s taken to biting the cuticles, the soft flesh that surrounds his nails. It was a childhood habit he’d thought he’d kicked. He’s gotten to the point where he’s drawing blood but he can’t care, no, his mind is in a million different places._   
  
_There is nothing, nothing but silence and Tony wants to scream until his throat is raw._   
  
_He settles, instead, for continuing his designs. He’s rapidly filling up the paper left to him, pouring the thoughts that race circles around in his brain._   
  
_He scratches absently at his beard then taps harshly at the arc reactor, the solid thumping sound bringing him comfort._

* * *

_Day 49_   
  
_No demands yet. No rescue yet. Nothing._   
  
_Tony does scream, long and loud until he can’t breathe._   
  
_And then he screams some more._

* * *

_Day 66_   
  
_“What the fuck do you want you motherfuckers? What do you want from me?!”_   
  
_Tony beats his fists against the walls and God it hurts but the pain is grounding, a tether and an idea forms in the back of his mind, there in the darkness and the chaotic landscape because of the silence and the isolation there’s nothing here, there’s no one._   
  
_There’s no one._   


* * *

_Day 78_   
  
_His music had always been a way to focus (Pepper had always found it obnoxious). The loud beats had kept his mind in the present, provided him with sensory input that yes, he was in his workshop and yes, he still existed and had not been swallowed up by his racing thoughts._   
  
_He needed interaction (the back and forth of it all, unpredictable patterns of response) and now he can only crave it._   
  
_He wonders how long it’s been since he slept because his brain drifts too much in the silence and when he remembers himself again he realizes that he’s moved to the desk and already drawn the line that marks another day in this place._   
  
_His mind floats again, getting lost, and he’s powerless to stop it._

* * *

_Day 80_   
  
_Tony figures that at any time now they’ll come in. Not his team (Steve, Clint, Bruce, Natasha, Thor, Steve, Clint, Bruce…) no, that ship has sunk so long ago, no, the interrogators (water, water, pain, water)._   
  
_Afghanistan (Middle East, weapons demonstration, 33 degrees north of the equator, 65 degrees east of Greenwich) had kicked in weeks ago but it’s at this point that he realizes he has no contingency plan (plan of attack, plan of defense, what if they come?)._   
  
_So he takes a portion of his daily meals (delivered 3 times a day, 21 times a week, 84 times a month, 1008 times a year, 10,080 times a decade…) which he barely eats anyway (losing weight and muscle mass, no exercise, need protein, need strength) and begins to stash it under his bed._   
  
_He pulls out the napkin holding the small pile of rice (432 individual pieces, 12 that have stuck together and 259 that he ate) and nods at it, expressing his approval._

* * *

_Day 91_   
  
_He sleeps, awakes and forces himself to close his eyes._   
  
_Maybe when he opens them again, maybe he’ll be home again._   
  
_It was all a joke, Tony. Just a joke._   
  
_He laughs to himself because its fucking hilarious._

* * *

_Day 106_

_He knows he’s getting sick (the lack of sleep the lack of food there’s no one here didn’t I draw that design already? Where’s Pepper hey JARVIS why won’t you answer no Dum-E put that fire extinguisher down pass me that wrench shut up shut up too quiet)_   
  
_His throat burns and he feels hot and they’ve sent him ibuprofen but he takes the pills and flushes them down the toilet, watching as they swirl away with sick satisfaction (no pun intended or maybe it is he can't really remember) and wonders if maybe he could shrink himself he could leave the same way, like a fish flushed down he could travel to the ocean and keep swimming until the sharks come because the sharks always come drawn by the blood and boy is he bleeding, hard and fast, and the sharks smile at him through false teeth with empty promises, these shapeshifters of betrayal as friendship and family and trust are shredded on the edges of so many razor-sharp teeth._

* * *

_Day 107_   
  
_The fever claims him easily and he paces for a long time (553 steps, 19 times he tripped and twice that he actually fell)_   
  
_His thoughts tumble into another, and he tastes foul water in his mouth because it fucking hurts, all this data, this formless input, so raw and incapacitating._   
  
_He sits in his corner, leans against the desk and uses the last bit of empty wall space left (the rest is already overflowing with his chicken-scratch lettering, since he ran out of paper 37 days ago) (37 days, 888 hours, 53,280 minutes, 3,196,800 seconds…)_   
  
_“JARVIS?” He calls, voice rough from disuse and hears the reply in his addled mind._   
_“JARVIS it’s time that I solved it don’t you think? It’s time that I set everything straight, that I figured it out. I can do it, I know I can. I have to try at least. Trying counts right? Yeah, yeah it does. Of course. Never let it be said that I didn’t try.”_   
  
_He starts at the beginning, the years of his childhood, his parents, and that one thing he had craved, thirsted for, wanted so badly but had never quite been able to have._   
  
_“Howard and Maria, what a pair. I was unplanned you know? Dad flipped shit, he didn’t want me. Never really did I think. I heard my mom talking with Aunt Peggy one day. Dad had asked her to get an abortion. Well, she uh obviously didn’t, but still. To be or not to be right? Could've almost been the latter.”_   
  
_Tony continues the timeline._   
  
_“Age 7, I was being shipped to boarding school. 8 years later and I was coming back cause they ended up as road kill and then there was MIT and Rhodey. Then Pepper. Then Yinsen. He died too.”_   
  
_Tony crosses out the name, just as he’d done for his parents._   
  
_“Then Stane,” another cross “and Coulson” another cross, which feels wrong for some reason but he just barrels on, “and the Avengers.”_   
  
_Tony stares at the wall. He stares until the fog begins to clear, until the not-truth becomes the truth and he can finally accept it, what he's always secretly known and feared and fought against but now...now..._   
  
_“Dad was right wasn’t he? Everything he ever said to me. He. Was. Right.”_   
  
_Tony laughs and laughs because it’s so fucking simple!_   
  
_“It’s me isn’t it? It’s always been me. The red on my hands, my attitude, oh the things I’ve done, so fundamentally flawed and fucked up…I can’t blame them, can I, JARVIS? Can’t blame a single one…they ran for the hills while they could…”_

* * *

They all want to stop.  
  
Steve is clenching his fists and Bruce has long ago broken his glasses in half.   
  
The time-stamp on the footage makes it clear what they're about to see.  
  
“We need to keep going,” Natasha’s voice is level and controlled, ever so brave and Clint loves her fiercely in that moment.  
  
Coulson un-pauses the video recording and they continue.

* * *

  
_Day 108 (3 Months, 2 Weeks, 5 days)_   
  
_(Or, 2,592 hours, 15,552 minutes…)_   
  
_It’s logical._   
  
_It’s rational and simple, why didn’t he think of it before?_   
  
_He only has one way out of here._   
  
_Everything is too loud inside his head. Yinsen and the Chitauri, Thor and his pop-tarts and Steve and Pepper and poking Bruce and catching Clint, running from Natasha after he threw up on her floor in the Tower, Howard in all his violent anger and JARVIS’s crisp tones, the last time he saw his mom and Coulson’s disapproving voice but amused eyes._   
  
_There’s designs and sketches, upgrades and questions, more answers than he knows what to do with._   
  
_“Stop pretending to be a hero.”_   
  
_“If we activate the portal, stabilize the core and assign matrices for focal points, set up some sort of relay…”_   
  
_“The Iron Man technology is a dangerous weapon that should be in the hands of experienced, military personnel, not some rich civilian who doesn’t know the first thing about war!”_   
  
_“Stark men are made of iron, Maria! Stop pampering the boy, he has to learn to be a man! I won’t have a weakling for a son.”_

_"Stop pretending to be a hero."_  
  
 _“So, you’re a man who has everything and nothing.”_  
  
 _All Tony really wants, all he really needs, is some relief._  
  
 _He wants everything to stop. The voices, the thoughts, the memories._  
  
 _So he hits his head against the wall and everything sharpens, focuses, streamlines. So he does it again._  
  
 _And again._  
  
 _And again._  
  
And again. 


	4. What Next May Be the Lone Report

Tony moves around a lot. He bounces from place to place, a man lost, a leaf blowing in the wind. 

His hair was shaved for the surgery and he keeps it short, the different feeling of tiny bristles against his palm strange but not unwelcome. He allows his beard to grow on the sides, so that his entire jaw is covered. 

He ditches the idea of contacts or hair dye and goes instead for jeans and a t-shirt.   
  
His hands shake and he goes to five doctors before one has the guts to look him in the eye and stand his ground and tell him that it is psychosomatic. Tony accepts the diagnosis with a nod and a job offer. 

And all the while, JARVIS keeps him alerted, lets him know when the Avengers are close.   
  
Sometimes, Tony hangs around, decides that he’ll let them catch up to him. Sometimes, he forgives them.

But he never believes those words, that sentiment, and so he keeps moving.

* * *

  
_Official Transcript of Post-Op. Evaluation: EXCERPT 016_   
  
_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_Samson: Mr. Stark, can you tell me more about your father?_   
_Stark: There’s really not much to say._   
_Samson: Anything will be just fine._   
_Stark: Have you ever thought you knew a person, but then, you find out that you never really knew them to begin with? That everyone tells you all these great, heroic stories, all true to everyone but you? Have you ever been cheated like that?_   
_Samson: …No, I can’t say I have._   
_Stark: [pause] Then yeah. There’s not really much more I can say._

* * *

  
Steve wants to take it back.  
  
He wants to go back in time, to stop this all from happening. It’s a childish notion, he knows that. But he’s at the end of his rope, shoulders sagging with exhaustion that seems bone-deep and permanent, like it’s been there for years.  
  
He feels like a failure.  
  
“Coulson…He’s found more videos…”

Clint holds himself tall, alert as always. But Steve knows he’s as tired as he is. As they all are.  
  
Because in the end, it wasn’t Loki or Doom or A.I.M. that had brought Tony Stark to his knees.  
  
No. That honor, that unknowing crime, belonged to his own team.  
  
Don’t people say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?

* * *

_Day 85_   
_Tony sees things in numbers. Force, velocity, joules and pounds and degrees and angles._   
  
_He knows the exact force it will take for him to smash his head against the wall for it to hurt. Knows the number of time he’ll have to do it for him to pass out. The angle at which, with proper force and timing, he could, quite possibly, break his own neck._   
  
_He blinks. Blinks again._   
  
_But the numbers don’t fade._   


* * *

_Day 50_   
  
_His nails catch on the arc reactor’s tiny grooves._   
_A simple twist and a pull and then…then what?_   
_Yinsen’s voice in his head again._   
_Tony wonders if he could greet death like an old friend._

* * *

_Day 67_   
  
_Tony curls up and Tony cries, room silent as always except for the occasional hitch of his breath._

* * *

Bruce comes up with the idea to visit the place. The scientist makes it to the door, peeks inside, before he draws back. The Other Guy has never been good with small spaces, he explains, and though they all know it’s much more than that, they say nothing.   
  
He’ll wait for them outside and that’s enough.  
  
The room isn’t as small as the video made it out to be but Clint knows that that’s not what matters.   
  
He looks around, wondering off-handedly if he’d have been able to escape. 

The walls are covered in writing, the scrawling lettering familiar in a way that tightens something in his gut.  
  
He runs his fingers over the words and numbers, trying to make sense of it all.  
  
Then he looks to the left and down of the desk, to the rust colored stain, _Tony crashing his head against the wall, palms on either side, just going, all living, frenzied motion against an immovable object_ , and realizes that the breaking of a man isn’t built out of things like sense and reason. No, the choreography of a fall is much more complex, made out of pain and fear and treason.  
  
Clint feels sick. 


	5. The Ever Widening Circles, Blood-Blossom

Steve knows that the moment, that one time he would snap, was inevitable. It’s everything to do with Tony ( _he’s missing, gone, and they search and search and they can’t, they_  can’t  _find him_ ) and that his team is in shambles, falling apart at the seams like an ages-old toy.

Clint doesn’t mean it, he’s upset too, it’s evident in the dark shadows under his eyes, the fact that he’s missed a target twice in the last week. 

It starts like a normal talk and then it escalates, building up like a volcano that’s been dormant for too many years.  
  
Something, something that Clint says but doesn’t mean ( _not with the pain in his eyes_ ), some off-hand comment, more out of hurt but he doesn’t take it back, not when Steve asks and not when Natasha puts a hand on his shoulder.  
  
 _“He ran away that’s what he did. He’s good at running away.”_  
  
Coulson is stepping into the kitchen, all placating gestures and phrases of  _“calm down”_ and  _“let’s not do this,”_ but Steve itches, and Clint follows up with more burning words,

_“He’s a coward.”_

and somewhere in the white-hot fury, Steve lunges.  
  
Clint punches back, Steve returns the blow, parries a kick, pushes Clint to the floor who pushes back, knees him in the stomach but Steve doesn’t falter as he shoves back and Clint moves, twisting to the side as Steve hangs on, Clint’s hands slipping around his neck.   
  
By the time Natasha and Coulson and Thor manage to pull them apart, both men’s chests are heaving, eyes wide, wondering just what the hell is happening to them all.

* * *

  
Tony settles in a little town a few miles from Akathiyoor, a city of about three-thousand in India. It’s a long way out from where Bruce was staying, once upon a time, and Tony feels secure in the strange faces and surroundings. He buys an auto repair shop and keeps the assistant already there.  
  
The woman can speak fluent English, and she seems capable enough.  
She raises an eyebrow the first time they meet, regards him with a searching gaze that lingers for only a few seconds before she shakes her head and resumes her work on the motor of a dilapidated car with no windshield.   
  
“I’m not going to ask and I’m not going to pry. I just want to work.”  
  
“Good. I hate to fire people I’ve just met. Unless they’re complete assholes. Or incompetent. You any of that?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Great! Let’s get started…uh, what city is this again?”

* * *

 

It was only a matter of time until word got out, until everything came to light. Tony Stark doesn’t just disappear without the world questioning why or how.   
  
And he certainly doesn’t fade away from the mind of the young man he’d taken under his wing. The young man he’d sought to protect, sought to make a part of the Avengers, despite all of SHIELD’s hesitation and reluctance.   
  
But Steve had never expected that Peter would show up in the middle of the night, swinging straight through an open window, fury written deep into every sharp motion, the quick yank of his mask revealing young, turbulent eyes.  
  
Because Peter had been the only one they’d ever lied to, the lie they’d deemed necessary. Pepper and Rhodey had gotten the truth and Peter had received the lie and Steve knows that whatever condemnation comes out of the kid’s mouth will be deserved, as much as it will hurt.  
  
Peter turns at a sound behind him, lithe body spinning, eyes tracking Natasha as she closes the window, Coulson as he re-caps his water bottle, Clint as he sags against the wall.  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
The question is simple, the answer is not, and Steve desperately wishes that he knew what to say.  
  
Peter laughs, brittle and angry and accusing, gloved fingers flexed in a powerful grip around his mask.  
  
“Where the hell is he?”  
  
“Peter–”  
  
Peter spins again, mouth a straight line, almost imperceptibly trembling with repressed emotion.   
  
“You all lied to me, you told me that he’d agreed, that he wanted to be there, and all this time! _All this time!_ ”  
  
Steve knows what Peter means, that what he really wants to say is this;  
  
 _“Why did you do it?”_  
 _“Why did you lie to me?”_  
 _“Why did you hurt him, why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t you let me stop you?”_  
  
Peter’s shoulders slump, and he shakes his head, like he wants to dispel a bad dream, eyes alight with pain and Steve thinks, in a realization so strong it burns inside his chest, that Tony wasn’t the only one betrayed. And Peter just smiles, wan and tired and oh so disappointed,  
  
“Hadn’t he bled enough for your trust?” 

* * *

  
  
Tony thinks that he’s getting better. Enclosed spaces don’t send his pulse running and he doesn’t taste the sands of Afghanistan or dirty, warm water as often anymore.   
  
His hands still shake and somewhere underneath the metal his heart longs for the tower, for Thor’s ridiculous ballads, Steve’s constant battles with the microwave, Bruce’s spicy tea, Natasha’s gruff morning voice, the scratching noise above of Clint traversing through the ventilation system as Coulson shoves post-op paperwork on Tony’s cluttered desk.   
  
 _“Pepper and I have an agreement, Stark. Don’t make me disturb her morning meeting.”_    
  
Tony can see him, hear him, and there is something, something about remembering Coulson ( _He can hear Clint begging, "Tony, this isn't you.")_ that sets his brain on alert and running.

His hands shake, badly, as the wrench slips loose from his fingers, the clattering noise bringing him back to earth.

* * *

  
_Official Transcript of Post-Op. Evaluation: EXCERPT 037_   
  
_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_Samson: Can you tell me about the relationship between you and the rest of the Avengers, Mr. Stark?_   
  
_Stark: Wow, what a question. Now I don’t want to regale you with a long, harrowing tale of our adventures. Summarized, they’re my family. Who knows how the hell those bastards ever got past JARVIS, and the drinking and the jokes, but they made it, like champs. It’s just…they’re my family, as fucked up and broken and bloodstained as they are...It’s stupid really, really and actually stupid because I should be over that. I stopped trying to find out where I fit when I was like, five. I mean really, I thought I grew out of needing, out of wanting…that… and then they came along and just…I guess we’re flawed like that, we can’t help it can we?_   
  
_Samson: [silence] Help what Mr. Stark?_   
  
_Stark: Learning to love what we can lose._


	6. The Spirit Rising Slow Like Oily Smoke Above Still Waters

When they finally catch up to him, surrounding him, the telepath just stops and raises his hands. It's been weeks of chasing, of following false leads. 

The man gives them a manic smile, grinning eyes roving over the group. 

"Ah. Now where would Tony Stark be?"

Thor steps forward menacingly, powerful hand trembling with repressed rage making Mjolnir hum. 

Steve beats him to it, feeling no remorse in the wild joy that bursts in his chest when his gloved fist connects with the man's head, knocking him out. 

* * *

"Relax, Captain. Stark will be processed out in a few hours. He has to get through a physical and a psych. eval, and then he's out."

"That might actually take a few hours," Clint throws out with a smile, glancing briefly at Fury "Tony hates doctors and shrinks."

"We should prepare the Tower for his return, perhaps request the delivery of his favorite foods. Sir JARVIS will return with his creator's homecoming surely," Thor adds, addressing the fact that JARVIS has been silent since Tony had been placed into containment.

They all agree to the idea, and Thor is pleased, even adding that a grand party should be thrown in honor of Tony's return as well as their own accomplishment in capturing the threat to their team. 

* * *

Tony will be furious. He might not talk to them for weeks and lock himself in his workshop. 

Steve doesn't think of an alternative, doesn't see how things might not be fixed, given time and patience and truth. 

* * *

They get the call around an hour after they arrive at the Tower. It's kind of a funny thing because they're all sitting in the common room, relaxing after days and days of hard work, anxious about Tony's impending return, talking about how they might give the genius time to acclimate to what happened, deal with the anger that is sure to follow. 

Their phones beep at the same time, messages flashing that Tony has been flown to SHIELD's ICU and is getting prepped for emergency surgery. 

It's Steve who gets an actual call, struggling to hear over the roaring panic in his ears, his team's confused and worried glances on him. 

Fury's voice is level, calm and collected but for the slight waver in his usual careless cadence. 

"Stark's...Tony, Tony's been moved to the SHIELD ICU closest to the containment center. Coulson is on his way to the Tower with the Quinjet."

"What happened?"

"Look, it's being investigated and it’s better to discuss this in person-"

" _What happened to Tony._ "

Not a question but a demand and Fury pauses.

Takes a long breath.  

"He tried to commit suicide."

 

* * *

 

 

Fury doesn't try to sugarcoat the situation. He explains what happened almost impassively and Steve envies him, envies his control because he feels like he's bursting at the seams. 

The doctor is similarly calm, immediately earning Steve's admiration because the man, the civilian is standing there, delivering horrible news to a waiting room full of superheroes and he only stutters twice. 

The words seem to rush over him, crashing against his brain and tumbling about inside his skull. 

Horrible, terrible words like intracranial hemorrhaging and pressure, critical surgery and induced coma, skull fracture and a brief cardiac arrest and possible permanent damage. 

Steve drops his head into his hands and closes his eyes as Pepper breaks into sobs and Thor mutely prays to his father and Bruce leaves the room as Natasha finally drops herself onto a chair, Clint next to her. 

When the doctor takes them to the x-ray viewing room, and the technical words are paired with actual visuals, they better learn just how bad things are. On the MRI they can clearly see the white lumps amongst the shadows of Tony's grey matter, indicating bleeding. There is a small tree branch shaped crack along Tony's skull. 

And then there is an x-ray of Tony's chest, taken because Tony had been sick and because SHIELD, for all its efforts, had never managed to attain anything resembling an inside look at the arc reactor and its place in Tony's body. The circle, showing up as a muted halo, is larger than the rounded blue they've seen on Tony's chest. It covers nearly all of his sternum from view. There are thin filaments that show up as bright lines that attach and curl around Tony's ribs but it is clear that the reactor is set in such a way that its main support is the sternum. 

Steve cannot believe that they haven't seen this before because one wrong blow, one hard crash and- 

He pushes the thoughts away, glances at Natasha and catches sight of the doctor approaching, multiple files in his hands.

"Director Fury advised me to keep you in the loop."

And then he's gone and they all settle in and begin to read. 

* * *

_Patient Medical File_

_Presiding Doctor: Collins, Michael_

_Presiding Surgeon: Anpoor, Kurt_

_Consults: Patron, Mikhail; Servova, Maria; Ramirez, Marcus_

_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._

_S.H.I.E.L.D. Consultant: Coulson, Philip_

_Emergency Contacts: Potts, Virginia; Rogers, Steven; Barton, Clint_

_Mr. Stark was flown into the South Dakota S.H.I.E.L.D. Intensive Care Unit at 19:25:06 and immediately prepared for neurosurgery. He presented with severe head trauma and was given a 6 TBI severity score after demonstrating consistent difficulty in motor, verbal and eye-opening reactions to stimuli. Loss of consciousness occurred intermittently during transport, culminating in a complete loss of consciousness shortly after arrival. X-rays revealed a minimal hairline fracture of the anterior skull, a misleading finding in light of the neuroimaging results, which revealed swelling and focal, intra-axial lesions, particularly in the temporal lobes._

_Mr. Stark was subsequently diagnosed with a subdural hematoma and prepared for emergency neurosurgery. The blood that gathered within the outermost meningeal layer, between the dura and arachnoid mates caused an alarming increase in intracranial pressure. The size and rate of growth was such that consultations indicated craniotomy as the best form of treatment. Mr. Stark underwent the operation at 21:30:07. Dr. Anpoor was successful in the identification and control of bleeding sites, and repairment of the injured vessels as well as the removal of the blood clot with a delicate irrigation procedure._

_A complication in the form of cardiac arrhythmias arose around 25:45:15 and Mr. Stark coded shortly thereafter. Mr. Stark was resuscitated at 28:49:03._

_Endotracheal intubation and mechanical ventilation are being used to ensure proper oxygen supply and a secure airway. Intravenous fluids are being given to maintain normal blood pressure as well as infusions of norepinephrine to maintain cerebral perfusion._

_Mr. Stark’s unique physiological conditions make his prognosis and future recovery challenging. Mr. Stark’s Arc Reactor (ref. 41b.e) represents a high possibility of future complications and stands in the way of adequate stabilization of his condition. The Arc Reactor’s significant immunosuppressive side-effects as well as Mr. Stark’s past encounter with heavy metal (palladium) poisoning (ref. 55b.f),in addition to the severity of the head trauma, in this panel’s opinion, greatly reduce not only his chances for survival, but also of making a full recovery. Permanent damage is not only likely, but almost guaranteed._

* * *

"You're going to get throughout this Stark. I don't know what the hell possessed you to pull such a stupid stunt but you will get through this. Or I will kill you myself. Don't you dare think I won't do it."

Natasha isn't good with the big questions, the emotional speeches and explicit demonstrations of love and care and friendship. 

She simply takes a seat next to Tony's bed, settles in and doesn't move. The nurses learn to work around her, the doctor to stop reminding her that Tony is in good hands and her constant, unerring vigilance isn't necessary. 

* * *

Steve always brings his sketchbook. He's never able to draw anything, the pencil feels wrong in his hands but the texture of the leather bound book feels okay, maybe because it was a gift from Tony for his birthday. 

He also brings a book, sometimes short stories, sometimes poems and he reads out loud. Natasha encourages it with one of the most serene looks he's seen upon her face as she closes her eyes and seems to drift along the cadence of his words. 

Steve comes every day at the same early time, staying until late.

Natasha jokes that he should pull in a couch as she's done. 

* * *

Day 1:

Steve offers a good morning to Natasha and takes a seat. He cracks open the thick book to a random page and begins to read.

_“Walking through a field with my little brother Seth_

_I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow._

_For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels_

_Had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground_

_He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer._

_Then we were on the roof of the lake_

_The ice looked like a photograph of water_

_Why he asked. Why did he shoot them."_

* * *

Bruce flips through Tony's chart. It's what he does as soon as he steps into the room, his routine every time he comes to visit. There is improvement, always improvement, but still Tony doesn't wake. 

"The uh, the Other Guy misses you you know. He's very sullen these days I guess...Tony, I'm not...I'm not going to run from this okay? I'm going to stay right here but please don't make me wait too long. Hulk isn't a patient guy and he'll get angry. You won't like him when he's angry," Bruce laughs, thinking of how Tony would have loved that last line. He runs the back of his hand across his eyes, feels the warm wetness with detachment as he composes himself before stepping out of the room. 

* * *

Day 2:

Steve brings coffee this time and has trouble finding a place to set it, what with the bedside tables next to Tony’s bed overflowing with get-well wishes and gifts. Little, inane things from normal people who hope their contribution will be counted. He sets it on the floor, taking Natasha’s advice.  

He flips through the pages, settles randomly again and begins.

_“Let me tell you how I stumbled, nineteen and drunk,_

_across a field to touch one on a dare –_

_how then, from nowhere and all at once the long arm_

_of time’s elliptical arc swooped in, wrapped me_

_in its cello-thin line, how I stopped, looked at the cows,_

_wondered what they must see coming toward them,_

_what monster upon them now, mad with curiosity_

_and no doubt a map of what to peel back next,_

_having already torn open and plexiglassed_

_their stomachs, would it be their hearts, or would I take_

_their souls, unto the paper layers of their thoughts,_

_pull the thread of their breath to unravel the tones of their lowing._

_I am telling you how I reached the point I always knew_

_would come, when I was at once too old and far_

_too young, how I knew, really knew for the first time,”_

Steve pauses, swallows a drink of the coffee, hot and bitter but welcome just the same because he barely slept last night. Again.

 

_"how there’s a wildness in us, how that made me sick_

_but I couldn’t go back, so I went toward the only cow_

_who watched not me but the sun, pink as a newborn,_

_heaving itself through the trees. I went to her, leaned_

_my head on her back, the sun growing, the boy_

_turning, her belly reflecting the last of the stars."_

* * *

"You're an ass, Stark. I mean like fucking seriously man, what the hell. We were just coming to get you and you just-you're gonna get better yeah? We'll all be right here, Shellhead, so you better get the hell out of your beauty sleep because no one is going anywhere."

Clint trails off, running out of steam, shoulders sagging in the darkness of the room because Natasha is sleeping and there is no one around to see. 

He squeezes Tony's unresponsive hand and drapes a blanket over the sleeping assassin by his bedside before departing, disappearing into the shadows. 

* * *

Day 3:

“You were always a bookworm weren’t you?”

Steve smiles at Natasha’s comment, pauses momentarily in his flipping of pages.

“Yeah. I was a pretty tiny kid growing up. Asthma was only the beginning. I turned to literature. The book shop owner on 54th had know my family for years. He’d let me borrow tomes without charging me a dime.”

Natasha smiles softly at that, nods at him to continue, “Read away, Captain.”

_“So this is what it's like to have to_   
_practice amiability and learn_   
_to say the orchard looks grand this evening_   
  
_when one admires instead the lowly_   
  
_gouge, adze, rasp, hammer--_   
_fire-forged, blunt-syllabled things,_   
_unthought-of until a need exists:_   
_a groove chiseled to a fixed width,_   
_a roof sloped just so. It is now_   
_one knows what it is to envy_   
_the rivet, wrench, vise -- whatever_   
_works unburdened by memory and sight,_   
_while high above the damp fields_   
_flocks of swallows roil and dip,_   
_and streams churn, thick with leaping salmon,_   
_and the bee advances on the rose."_

* * *

Day 4:

“I have often heard you reciting the words of your great writers when I come to visit Tony. You and Lady Widow will not mind my presence?”

Steve just shakes his head and Thor settles into his impossibly tiny visitor’s chair and Steve wants to laugh, just a little bit. He passes the book to the demi-god instead and lets him choose.

_"2._ __  
_The second points the way._ __  
_True way.  The path crosses the earth,_ __  
_The moon and some stars._ __  
_Watch, he points further._ _  
_ _He points to himself._

_3._ __  
_The middle one has backache._ __  
_Stiff, still unaccustomed to this life:_ __  
_An old man at birth.  It's about something_ __  
_That he had and lost,_ __  
_That he looks for within my hand,_ __  
_The way a dog looks_ __  
_For fleas_ _  
_ _With a sharp tooth."_

* * *

“Were it not ill-advised, I would have taken you to Asgard. The Healing Room would have been of great benefit,” Thor shifts, wondering what else to say. He feels like he has failed.

“Lady Jane and Darcy sends their best wishes…I…it is rare that words fail me, Tony, and I find myself standing here, searching for something that I might say…We have captured the fiend that intended you further harm and I wish that we had been able to accomplish the task sooner. Perhaps then you might not have turned to such dire measures. But fear not, friend Stark, for we are watching over you.”   

* * *

Day 5:

“You should have the doctors take a look at your hands. Or, at least Bruce,” Natasha mentions offhandedly, no doubt noticing the now perpetual grazes of red across his knuckles.

“It’s fine,” he says simply, convincingly, like it really is. Like everything is. Because everything is fine. Just fine.

“I’ll read today,” she counters, not a question nor a demand and surprising him still as he hands her the book.

_“The bud_

_Stands for all things,_

_Even for those things that don’t flower,_

_For everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;_

_Though sometimes it is necessary_

_To reteach a thing its loveliness,_

_To put a hand on its brow_

_Of the flower."_

* * *

Day 6:

_“Turning and turning in the widening gyre_

_The falcon cannot hear the falconer_

_Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold_

_The darkness drops again, but now I know_

_That twenty centuries of stony sleep_

_Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,”_

And Steve is about to keep reading, but Natasha places a hand on his shoulder and he looks up, sees the hope in her expression, unveiled as he turns and looks at the bed and Tony’s chocolate eyes meet his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems in order of appearance:
> 
> "Snow" by David Berman
> 
> "What I Think of Death, If Anyone’s Asking" by Maud Kelly
> 
> "Gouge, Adze, Rasp, Hammer" by Chris Forhan
> 
> "Bestiary for the Fingers of My Right Hand" by Charles Simic
> 
> "St. Francis and the Sow" by Galway Kinnell
> 
> "The Second Coming" by W.B. Yeats


	7. What Next? Well, Wait And See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple."
> 
> -Oscar Wilde

 “Look, Captain, I completely understand your reservations. But given the evidence, I still recommend that the threat is too great to simply do nothing.”

“I understand Director. The point is that it's been two weeks since the threat was made and nothing has happened. No one on the team agrees with the idea of containing Tony.”

Fury stands, abandoning his desk as he moves to the large window taking up almost an entire wall of his office.

“Sometimes, certain situations force us to take measures that are undesirable and  unpleasant, but that, in the end, serve a greater purpose.”

Steve smiles bitterly at that, the logic without input of emotion, something he desperately hates about this time.

The memory flickers into his mind unbidden, of the nuclear missile fired at Manhattan because the ends justified the means.

And then he remembers what happened directly after, the gleam of red and gold, the man that knew what he was doing and what it meant but did it anyway, every bit the hero few believed him to be.

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, my team has spoken. Tony isn’t going anywhere.”

Fury doesn’t reply for a moment and Steve is at the door when the Director speaks again.

“This isn’t something I want to do either Rogers. I’ve been around for a long time and I know how these things work. How they end up. Now, I hope to whatever God is out there that my instincts are proven wrong. But if not, I need to know that you are prepared to do what is necessary.”

Steve wants to say something to that. But he can’t. He can’t just answer on the spot.

Not for something like this.

* * *

_Official Interrogation Transcript: EXCERPT 003_   
  
_Accused: Sandhurst, Basil_

_“The Controller”_   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_Samson: Mr. Sandhurst, you hold PhDs in electrical mechanics and chemistry, is that correct?_   
_Sandhurst: Straight to the boring questions is it? Not why I did it? My motivations? Future plans? Why I chose good ol’ Tony Stark?_   
_Samson: [pause] We are free to talk about anything you wish._   
_Sandhurst: I watched ‘em you know. Watched ‘em closely, tracked them like animals because it was just so very exciting. I watched them on the news, their heroics, their antics. And you know who intrigued me the most? Tony. I glanced at all their minds, in passing, just as a stranger on the street. The soldier out of time, the monster and the assassins and the prince and I saw into Tony’s brain. Just a little, itsty, bitty taste. And it was just so fucking delicious I had to have more._   
_Samson: Who sent you?_   
_Sandhurst: Back to the boring questions again, huh, doc Sam? Mind if I call you that? Sam? Sammy? Think I’ll just spill everything, tell you every dirty little secret?_   
_Samson: Mr. San–_   
_Sandhurst: This isn’t the end of it. There’s something larger at play here, something beyond you, or SHIELD or even your precious Avengers. Something far larger and far stronger and when the time comes I will laugh as I watch you all bleed._

* * *

 

“Hey, Cap,” Tony’s voice is rough and tired but he looks like a man who has been in the desert for months and has just spotted an ocean.

The genius’s eyes flicker and then he’s smiling, pulse-ox covered index finger twitching against the hospital bed and it'd be so easy to just forget, to pretend that everything is okay and that the team didn't get called in the middle of the night because one their own almost succeeded in bashing his brain in.

“What took you guys so long?”

And Steve’s heart shatters.

* * *

 “Get out of my way Rogers, I don’t want to have to say it again.”

Tony is leaning heavily on his crutches, he’s thin and weak and trembling, hands shaking so badly and eyes that are dark and livid and so utterly shadowed by _hurt_ that Steve wants to look away.

“Tony, please–”

“Stop! Okay? Just fucking _stop_! Look you did what you had to, what was necessary. What more do you want from me? A medal? A thank you?! Do you want me to kneel and clutch your hands, ‘Oh, Captain America, thank you ever so much for saving my life?’”

Tony’s chest is heaving and he stumbles and Bruce reaches out to steady him and Tony flinches, hard, and his eyes go wide like he can’t believe his own body’s response.

Tony looks at all of them, gauging their stares. They can all see how fast Tony is retreating into himself, walls slamming up and locking into place, the facsimile of carelessness and unbreakable confidence rising forth with such painful familiarity.

“I’m fine okay. I’ll be just peachy, so thanks but no thanks for the concern. It’s unnecessary. Completely unnecessary. Fury’s got me on a shrink, the old dome is healed and I’ll be on my way,” A smile then, brilliant and wide and oh so fake as Clint clenches his jaw and Thor is at a loss.

“I’ll uh, see you guys at the next city disaster ok?”

And with that Tony is gone.

* * *

_Official Interrogation Transcript: EXCERPT 006_

_Accused: Sandhurst, Basil_

_“The Controller”_   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_

_Sandhurst: It was simple enough. I knew I could bait him, get him close to me. I wasn’t interested in anyone else. I studied how they worked, their team dynamics. I almost went for the super soldier you know? Almost nabbed him instead. You know what I would have done had I taken over his mind? I would have made him hurt Tony in so many different ways it would have been glorious. And then I would have let him go, to see what he had done. To live with the guilt._

* * *

Tony’s rehabilitation is long and arduous but he makes steady and rapid progress, once more achieving the impossible.

It might be easy to overlook that everything else is falling apart. 

The descent is slow at first. Tony not setting a foot in SHIELD headquarters, which goes on for a few days before a letter arrives from his legal team.

_“Due to the circumstances outlined later in this submission, Mr. Anthony Edward Stark will no longer participate as a consultant for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, effective immediately…”_

What follows is around 20 pages, give or take, of legal loopholes and grandiose speeches and sweeping declarations. Attached is a large check to cover the breach of contract and that is that.

Tony never sets foot in the Tower again and JARVIS returns, monotone and flat.

A few days later, they learn that Tony has moved back to his house in Malibu.

* * *

 

_Official Interrogation Transcript: EXCERPT 007_

_Accused: Sandhurst, Basil_

_“The Controller”_   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_

_Sandhurst: I just couldn’t resist you know? Have you ever wanted something so bad you would do anything to get it?_   
_Samson: No. There are certain lines that must not be crossed. Codes of ethics and morals._   
_Sandhurst: Oh, doc, who the hell lied to you? Man, do I feel sorry for you! There are no codes and no lines and nothing that can’t be blurred or stepped over or completely ignored. You say these things because you are afraid, afraid of the monster inside you, that nasty, bloodthirsty creature that wants to destroy. You use your morality as a blanket, a child fighting impulses, when the things that go bump in the dark are your very own creations._   
_Samson: You acted on such impulses?_   
_Sandhurst: I was recruited. Someone, someone picked me up and opened my eyes and then set me free. They pointed me to my target and let me go and I was wild at first, I couldn’t decide who to go after! I was a dog chasing cars. And then I tasted Tony’s mind, so beautifully damaged and complex and I just had to have him. And I did._

* * *

Before they know it, they’re surrounded and separated. The Hulk’s roar is far off, blocks and blocks down the street.

“Thor’s not responding,” Natasha says from behind him, simultaneously shooting one of the spider-shaped robots nearly point-blank.

Steve is about to respond when another one is upon him, having fallen from above. He barely has time to bring up his shield as the thing tries to claw him clean across the torso.

They’re outnumbered.

“Hawkeye, status?”

_“There are a lot of these bastards. I’m running out of arrows and we still haven’t located Stark. The idiot needs to stop running off on his own.”_

“Keep me posted,” Steve replies, hears Coulson mutter something in the background before the comm. unit is muted on Clint’s side.

His heart is thundering with worry because this is exactly what they’d fought so hard to keep from happening.

But Tony, damn his curiosity and his stubbornness, he’d gone ahead and hacked into the SHIELD databases. He’d learned of the threat, of the covert efforts of the team to keep him out of the loop.

JARVIS had warned them all, just minutes after Tony had taken the suit, of what had happened, no doubt seeking to save his creator’s life.

It was one of the few times Steve had heard the undertones of panic in the A.I.

Steve can feel the foreboding roiling in his stomach, an awful, intense feeling and he knows that they have to find Tony  _now._

 And then his comm. unit flares to life.

_“Cap, we got a situation here, it’s fucking bad. We need you here ASAP–”_

“Hawk, we’re on our way, what is it?”

_“It’s the motherfucker, he’s got –fuck! He’s got Stark. I repeat, Stark’s been compromised.”_

Steve is running then, running as fast as he can, pushing forward because his heart is in his throat, beating far too fast and too hard,  _God, please, please–_

_“Stark –Tony, this isn’t you man. Trust me, I know, I know what it feels like. You've gotta kick it. This isn’t–”_

 

And Clint’s put his comm. unit on speaker because Steve can hear it. He can hear everything that is happening and he can’t do anything about it and that is just the cruelest injustice in the world.

There’s the high-pitched whine of Iron Man’s repulsors and clattering, movement, running, the repulsors again and Clint cursing heavily and Coulson screaming in the background.

 

Words, rushed, alarmed,  _begging._

 

Clint is  _begging._

_“Tony–"_

 

And then silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Basil Sandhurst is an actual villain in the Iron Man comics. He was one of my favorite foils when I first started reading the comics so I decided to adapt him to this story and modernize his mind controlling abilities a little.


	8. The Hand Can't Choose to Change the Shape of Water

_It’s the nightmares that always wake him up. Snowy mountainsides and bomb shells, bitter cold and dry rations, screams and crimson on earth._

_Steve abandons his room, heading for the gym, just three floors below._

_Some nights he catches Natasha or Clint._

_Some nights he catches no one._

_Tonight, he is surprised to see Tony._

_The genius is standing at the front of the pool on the far side of the gym, the area that is rarely illuminated because the gym’s regular uses seldom ever go there and it would be a waste of energy to keep the lights on._

_Tony must think so too, he’s left them off._

_Steve approaches, curious. Tony is wearing nothing but swim trunks. They are long and big, a gaudy gold color decorated with Iron Man faces and sound bubbles that attempt to verbalize the sound of Iron Man’s repulsors. Steve vaguely recalls that they were a gift from Pepper._

_He finds himself scrutinizing the man before him, wondering just how he’s been standing there, looking at the water. Steve is no idiot, he’s read the files. He knows about it just like he knows about Clint (bonfires) and Natasha (confiment) and Bruce (closed spaces). Thor might be the only one unburdened by such things._

_“Isn’t it a little past your bedtime, Cap?”_

_Tony’s voice is level, but Steve knows by now that that doesn’t mean anything._

_He wonders how to respond, what to say, if he should offer encouragement or not._

_In the end he thinks about what he would need._

_He’d just want someone to be there._

_“Just a little,” Is all he replies, moving away and to the weights, keeping a discrete eye on Tony, letting the iron equipment clash more often than usual, if only to remind Tony that he is not alone._

_The engineer doesn’t say anything back, simply resumes his silent vigil over the still water. Steve observes him, cast in the blue glow of the arc reactor and the muted lighting of the pool. He looks at the lean torso and well-muscled arms, thinking of how easy it is to forget that underneath the expensive suits lies a still powerful man, if not on his or Thor’s level, then perhaps Clint’s._

_It must be another half-an-hour before Steve hears the deep, shaky breath, then the splash, turning his head a little to catch a glimpse of Tony determinedly swimming laps._

* * *

Tony knows better than to think that he could stay away forever, to think he could run away and never look back.

He’s been told before that sometimes there aren’t ways out, that sometimes there is nothing he can do.

It’s a good thing he’s never been good at listening.

He boards the private plane with only a moment’s hesitation, falls asleep as they pass arid earth of India, then azure ocean.

He opens his eyes as the beautiful skyline of New York comes into view.

* * *

_Steve had always hated being on display like this, but Fury had insisted that it would be good publicity, even if it was just him and Tony because Clint and Natasha were off in South Africa and Bruce was always excused by virtue of the Hulk._

_Tony is not too far off, no doubt charming everyone there and Steve feels okay because he’s done this before._

_And then the fireworks start and Steve didn’t have a problem last Fourth of July, but there are good days and there are bad days and today, today he feels his heart start to race as his palms feel clammy and he thinks it’s far too hot._

_He can smell the smoke, the acrid taste in his mouth, can hear the shells and the staccato beat of gunfire, flares and flashes on dark nights, the rattling breath of the dying and mass graves marking the limitless cruelty of man and–_

_Tony’s hand is on his shoulder, squeezing._

_“What do you say we ditch the stiffs and blow this popsicle stand?”_

_He follows the genius through tall shrubs and bushes, leaving the high-class party behind them._

_They stop at the top of a sloping hill and Tony shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the ground taking a seat, inviting him to do the same._

_Steve sits and notices that they’re in some sort of clearing and the fireworks are more clearly visible than before, loud and popping but then Tony is rambling, of the combustion reactions and the chemicals and the color combinations, the mechanics behind launching them into the air._

_Tony is sitting close, close enough that their shoulders touch and he just keeps talking and Steve sits and looks at the sky and the stars and the fireworks and feels oddly calm._  

* * *

_Official Transcript of Post-Op. Evaluation: EXCERPT 023_

  
_Patient: Stark, Anthony E._   
  
_Psychiatrist: Dr. Samson, Leonard_   
  
_Stark: Just tell me Doc. Lay it on me._   
_Samson: I asked you before if you were certain about the time you were contained. Do you remember that?_   
_Stark: Of course I do. The thing is, my brain says yes and no to that. It’s a possible side effect, amnesia. Or, at least that’s what the doctors at SHIELD tell me. I know better than to trust myself on this one._   
_Samson: You believe that you cannot trust yourself?_

_Stark: Not exactly. What I’m trying to say is that I know the odds. I’m a futurist, I play around with numbers and calculations deriving possibilities and probabilities in seconds. And right now, right here, the odds are that I’m forgetting. You asked me in the beginning to tell you how long I thought I’d been contained. Now I’m asking you the same. Simple._

_Samson: [pause] You were contained for a total period of 3 weeks and 2 days. Your captivity in Afghanistan was estimated to be 3 months, 2 weeks and 5 days._

_Stark: [pause] Did I ever tell you the story of how I hired Pepper because she caught a math mistake in one of my reports?_

* * *

When they get to the scene, Steve wants to close to his eyes and pretend that this is all a bad dream.

_He can remember the latest transmission, Clint stating that Stark was compromised, the cursing, the noise of it all, Coulson's screams and Clint's supplications._

The warehouse in flames, collapsing in on itself.

Natasha surges ahead of him, shouting Clint’s name.

They find the archer a couple of feet to the side, sprawled against knocked-over garbage cans _because Iron Man had thrown him through a window when he’d gotten in the way._

Steve is already preparing to rush the building when Natasha uses her thumbs against the pressure points right behind Clint’s ears and Clint wakes up like a man who’d been underwater, immediately scrabbling to get up.

His breathing is wheezing and pained but he looks at them with wide eyes, “Coulson, he– Stark was going after me when Coulson interfered.”

Clint gets to his feet, almost collapses as Steve turns back and begins to run again but it isn’t necessary because a figure, red and gold, steps out, unresponsive body curled in its arms.

Iron Man sets Coulson on the ground slowly, _God, the blood, the blood_ and then the faceplate goes up revealing Tony’s face, jaw clenched, brown eyes turbulent with war against something foreign and brutally cruel.

“He’s still-”

Tony doesn’t finish and among the sirens and the alarms, Clint and Natasha trying to rouse Coulson and the clatter of the armor on the pavement as Tony falls to his knees, Steve can hear him repress a scream as whatever is in his head fights to regain control.

Steve is at his side at once and Tony glances up, looks right at him, eyes wild, resolute and fiercely afraid.

 

_“Do it.”_

 

It may have been a final instruction to JARVIS, because a tiny needle slides out from a groove between the armor’s shoulder plates, so small anyone without the serum may not have seen it, so small as it slides into the side of Tony’s neck and his eyes roll and he’s out, saving Steve from having to do it.

It may have been or not. It may have been a plea, a man asking another to stop him, to keep him from further damning himself.

Later, much later, the words will haunt Steve, and he will wonder if he shouldn’t have asked for the same thing himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -There are two pressure points behind both ears, set a little below the curve of the skull that lead straight to the adrenal gland in the brain. Pressing upon these pressure points stimulates the adrenal gland to release adrenaline, making it possible to awaken someone that has passed out or fainted.


	9. The Heart Can't Choose to Find Itself Enchanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In general, italicized portions of text refer either to written reports or past events.

_When the fireworks are over and they are left in the near darkness, a few minutes pass before Tony makes a movement to get up._

_Steve doesn’t know what compels him to do it, why he reaches up and takes a gentle hold of Tony’s wrist._

_“Need some help getting up, Cap? I’m all for assisting senior citizens but I kinda thought that the whole super-soldier serum thing would take care of all that.”_

_“Did you ever just take a moment and looked at the stars?”_

_Tony is puzzled but curious and he sits back down._

_“You, uh, had too many cocktails Rogers?”_

_Steve laughs at that, ruefully shaking his head._

_“Are you really that eager to return to the party?”_

_Normally, Tony would come up with a witty quip, something along the lines of ‘hell yeah, I’m the life of the party, what would they ever do without me?’ But tonight, he just doesn’t feel like it’s worth the effort to play that persona._

_He settles for grumbling something mean but good-natured, pretending his heart doesn’t speed up just a little as he lays down next to Steve._

_They must look like idiots, two grown men laying on a hill, heads craned up._

_But then Steve is leaning up and in and for all the world Tony didn’t think the captain had the guts, certainly not for something like this._

_Nothing happens because at that moment someone is calling for them, the beam of a flashlight imperfect in the quiet beauty of the night. Steve sits up fully then, and so does Tony, whatever might have been in those last few seconds gone, like rain seeping into the ground._

_Pepper and Happy say that they are relieved to find them, and Steve apologizes for worrying them, good person that he is._

_And then Pepper’s eyes catch his, an apology in them._

_Tony just smiles at her, “The real question is, how the hell did you get over here in those heels?”_

* * *

_Patient Medical File_

_Presiding Doctor: Robins, Leander_

_Presiding Surgeon: McMillan, Lucas_

_Patient: Coulson, Philip_

_S.H.I.E.L.D Consultant: CLASSIFIED_

_Emergency Contacts: Barton, Clint; Romanov, Natasha; CLASSIFIED_

_Agent Coulson was transported to the Nevada SHIELD medical center at 13:25:53. Agent Coulson was unconscious upon arrival. He presented with multiple burns and lacerations. Examination revealed moderate first-degree burns across the arms, which were subsequently attributed to the fire that occurred in the warehouse where he sustained the injuries (ref 4.56c.). Second-degree burns occurred on 15% of the torso. With statements from Agent Barton and testing of the unique burning pattern, it was determined that the cause was none other than the respulsors of the Iron Man armor (ref 7.88d.). In accordance with this determination, Agent Coulson also presented with broken fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs (left side) and sixth and seventh (right side) ribs. The left collarbone fracture is consistent with a close range attack. I speculate that Agent Coulson was close enough to Iron Man that the latter was able to grab him, as Iron Man’s gauntlets are certainly capable of breaking bone. However, as Agent Barton was no longer present for this portion of the attack, such a speculation cannot be confirmed nor denied until Agent Coulson awakens. The criminal, considered to be Basil Sandhurst, a.k.a. “The Collector,” appears to have caused no direct injuries to either Agent Coulson or Agent Barton._

 

_Additional Note: Mr. Stark does not appear to remember anything leading up to, during, or directly after this event._

* * *

When Gwen Stacy opens the door, she first expects the pizza that they ordered “at least three decades ago” (by Peter’s calculations, not hers). She also expects a mailman, a neighbor, a salesman, a Jehovah’s Witness. Even a police officer. Maybe a Norse god, or an eye-patched man.

She certainly doesn’t expect Tony Stark.

He looks weary and thin, brown hair shorter than she remembers. But the smile that stretches his face and goatee is real, as tired as it is.

Gwen doesn’t think and doesn’t invite him in. She simply steps out and envelops him in a hug. He’s apprehensive at first, and then he relaxes, exhaling, “happy to see me, Gwen?”

* * *

_"Friend Stark, this toaster is not working as you said. I fail to see why it does not respond to me as it responds to you.”_

_Tony walks over and immediately sees what the problem is._

_“Uh, yeah…So, the thing is, you can’t just, like, cram a bazillion pop-tarts in there, Goldilocks. You’ve got to try two at a time.”_

_“Just two?”_

_“Just two.”_

_“Then this machine is most inadequate and useless. It should be thrown out at once and replaced with one better capable to handle its task.”_

_“I’ll get on that for you okay? Just, for now, try two…and Thor?”_

_“Yes friend Stark?”_

_“Can you not bash it in with Mjolnir? Coulson’s asked us not to repeat The Microwave Incident, remember?”_

_“I shall try friend Tony, for the son of Coul’s words are often wise and his requests should be honored.”_

_“Thanks, buddy…and, not to bother you that much but it’s kind of important. See, around here, people, all people, everyone really…wears pants. No offense of course. Just put on some pants.”_

* * *

Gwen practically pulls him inside, feels the promise of a certain tranquility settle over her. She knows bits and pieces of what’s happened, and she’s mostly inferred the rest. She certainly knows what it did to Peter.

“I’m not going to ask…just…just please talk to him.”

Tony nods, squeezes her hand once and then he’s gone, disappearing into the small hallways of the Stacy apartment, where Peter has been spending many of his mornings.

* * *

_Tony sits and waits, placing his head into his hands, fighting the urge to pull at his hair and scream for them to give Clint back. He’s tried that already, and, well, it didn’t exactly get him anywhere fast. Unless you count some thorough kicks, which got him to a couple of cracked ribs pretty fast but that, that’s a whole different story._

_The cell they’re kept in is damp and it smells and there’s a drain in the middle and Tony wants to laugh at that because seriously? Where’s the inspiration gone these days?_

_They bring Clint back in about 20 minutes and Tony breathes a sigh of relief. 20 minutes is too little time to seriously injure anyone he reasons. He’s blindfolded and Tony is warned that if he tries to remove it, things will get ugly. Tony replies that things are as ugly as they can get, judging by their looks, and that they must break mirrors and that their mothers are fugly and pretty soon, Clint is forgotten and his ribs go from cracked to broken._

_“Stark?”_

_“Yeah, right here. Coming over okay?”_

_“I can’t…” Clint’s voice wavers, “I can’t see.”_

_“Well, I hate to break it to you Barton, but you’ve got a blindfold on. Kinky, huh?”_

_“No, I mean…they sprayed me in the face with something when they nabbed us. They also injected me with something.”_

_Tony keeps his voice level. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Robin of the Hood. Or the blindfold. Same difference really.”_

_“I don’t know. They basically told me it would fuck me up.”_

_“Fuck you up in what ways? Are we talking uncontrollable projectile puking and bloody diarrhea or what?”_

_“I’m thinking more along the lines of hallucinations and delusions.”_

_“Well, there were certainly easier ways of sending you on a bad trip if that’s what they were after.”_

_“Stark, I’m sure –what are you doing?”_

_“Removing the blindfold to look at your eyes. Relax, cupcake, I’m trying to see those beautiful orbs that Natasha seems enamored with.”_

_“Are you deaf and stupid?”_

_“Uh, I’m pretty sure I have a genius IQ so no. Hold still.”_

_Clint stills at the feeling of Tony’s fingers around his head. He didn’t expect to see once it was off, but it is disappointing just the same to be met with hazy black once the pressure around his head is gone._

_“Well, the skin’s puffy and crusty. We gotta wash it out.”_

_Now that Tony is so close, Clint can hear the slight rattle in his breath._

_“Are you all right?”_

_“Me? I’m fine and dandy really. Also, incredibly handsome, quite unlike our captors I might add.”_

_“Stark.”_

_“…I may or may not have some cracked ribs.”_

_“Just cracked?”_

_“Fucking hell, I think your ears have already started to compensate your lack of sight…too soon?”_

_Clint smiles despite himself._

_“Sit tight Bows and Arrows, I’m looking for a pipe.”_

_Tony finds one on the opposite side of the room. It’s more orange than grey from the rust but it’s something. Tony takes off his shirt, shivering a little in his tank undershirt, and tears it into strips as best he can. By the time he pries the faucet open, crimson stains his hands but Tony ignores the cuts, holds his shirt under the lukewarm water._

_The pipe sputters for about a minute before stopping._

_“Well, now we know the utilities aren’t included. Fucking cheapskates.”_

_Standing and moving hurts, so Tony takes a seat in front of Clint, and gently takes a hold of the archer’s chin. He’s cleaned around delicate parts before, tiny chips and gears and levers, and he imagines that this is no different because someone has deliberately done this to his friend and left him like this and that makes his blood boil in his veins._

_When he’s done, Tony uses the remaining strips and ties them around Clint’s head._

_“You might actually give Fury a run for his money with this one,” Tony says, warming at Clint’s poorly hidden grin because they both use humor in that way, to alleviate worn nerves and secret panics._

_“When I start, you know, tripping out bad, you have to get away from me.”_

_“Did they hit you in the head or what?”_

_“I’m serious Tony. There’s no telling what I might do when I lose it and you’re already hurt.”_

_“Think I can’t take you Barton?”_

_Clint doesn’t answer. He simply tips his head back and waits for the inevitable. After a few seconds, he hears Tony move away._

* * *

Tony finds Peter in the guest room of the house. The young man is tinkering with something.

He doesn’t glance up when Tony walks in, doesn’t say a word when Tony takes a seat on the bed.

“Heya Peter.”

A pause as Peter’s shoulders tense and then Peter is in motion, practically bolting out of his chair, lithe arms wrapping around Tony like it’s been _years_ and Tony hugs back because yeah, he’s not made of stone dammit, his heart is all flesh.

* * *

_“You, uh, you really don’t have to do this, you know?” Tony says, casting a sidelong glance at Natasha. She looks spectacularly beautiful in the glow that the pool lights shine around her, swimsuit framing her in just the right way. Tony doesn’t mean anything by his appreciation, he’d never hurt Clint like that, and he hopes that Natasha knows it too and doesn’t choose to kill him in some horrible way._

_When he’d first seen her step out of the changing room, he hadn’t believed that she’d actually changed into a swimsuit because that implied a whole lot of trust, more than Tony believed he and Natasha had reached._

_She is calm and efficient in her movements and though she says nothing, Tony can tell that she is uncomfortable in just the way that she closes herself off and becomes unreadable. When she steps closer, practically next to him, is when he sees the smooth, curled and raised planes of scars, smattered over her otherwise unblemished skin. A bullet wound here, a knifing there, other marks, closer together that might have been the result of a questioning and Tony looks away, unclenches his fists._

_He himself is wearing a black neoprene diving shirt but when he sees her, marked yet strong, strong enough to show him, he takes it off, allowing her to see his own vulnerability, the arc reactor and the scars that thread outwards from it, results of the surgery and the palladium poisoning combined._

_"If you don’t want to do thi–”_

_“Stark.”_

_“Okay now you’re just copying Clint.”_

_She raises an eyebrow and Tony smirks at her._

_Natasha ignores him and moves forward, right to the edge of the pool. Tony hesitates. When he’d asked her to help him with this, he’d thought it would be easy, easier than this coiling feeling of fear-tinged dread in his stomach._

_Natasha simply sits, sticking her legs into the clear, “The water’s nice Tony.”_

_It must be another ten minutes before Tony gets to the edge of the pool but Natasha never says anything, either encouraging or disparaging, just letting him move at his own pace. Tony is deeply thankful for that, more than he’d ever be willing to say._

_The first two times, they just sit like that, legs in the water, kids in a lazy summer afternoon._

* * *

Peter is smiling that open, almost-goofy grin and Tony marvels at how much the kid gives away with just that, so unlike his own trademark smirks.

“How you been Petey?” Tony asks before he can think it through and recognize just how unfair that question is, considering Gwen’s barely concealed pleading tone and the wildness that’s calming down in Peter’s eyes.

Peter’s head tilts to the ground, and Tony realizes that the kid is shaking.

* * *

_“Friend Stark?”_

_“Yeah Thor?”_

_“I am here to thank you for the toaster machine! My pop-tarts warm to a perfect level within seconds and I may stuff as many as I desire within its chambers. It is most wondrous.”_

_“That’s great buddy. I aim to please. Well, most of the time, anyway.”_

_“Good. I am gladdened that you enjoy your work, for I also bear bad news with my words of gratitude.”_

_“What did you do, Conan the Barbarian?”_

_“I may have utilized the might of Mjolnir against the coffee machine. It was offending me.”_

* * *

“I, uh, I know I was gone for a month after I got out and I should have talked to you sooner but I…I needed some time to…I just needed some time.”

“I looked for you,” Is Peter’s response, and his eyes catch Tony’s and Tony wants to look away because something twists in his gut, “I might have broken into some databases and reports I wasn’t supposed to and I searched for any, _any_ clue but in the end…in the end I _understood_ that you would need time. Can’t say that I wasn’t worried though, I didn’t know if you’d…”

It’s Peter’s turn to look away, mouth working like he wants to say something else but simply can’t find the words to explain himself.

Tony knows this because he’s in the same rut, letting his eyes wander around the room as his thoughts race and words fail him. He’d briefly entertained the fantasy that maybe Peter hadn’t looked that far, that maybe he didn’t know or know enough. He wants to say as much, is stopped by Peter moving, pacing, talking again.  

 “I don’t know everything about what happened and I know that I can’t…can’t pretend to understand _why_ , why you thought that you had to… um… I just– I just want to know that when you leave, I don’t have to worry that you’ll…um, did you mean it?”

Peter stills at that, the frantic movements of the last few seconds stop, entire demeanor deflating. There’s terror in his eyes and Tony feels something twist in his chest this time.

“I know it’s not a fair thing to ask of you. You don’t need to explain yourself, especially to me. But I need to know…when you _tried_ to… _did you meant it_?”

* * *

_“They will try to use us against you, Stark.”_

_“Yeah, kinda figured that one out on my own Agent. If they want something built, leverage is always a good go-to idea.”_

_“No matter what happens, you have to refuse.”_

_“What I really want to know is, how did they get a jump on Stars and Stripes?”_

_“You don’t remember?”_

_“I took a good one to the head, Agent.”_

_“He was trying to reason with them, get them to take him instead of us.”_

_“Ah, yeah. Then they gassed us all with some shit and here we are, right?”_

_“More or less.”_

_“Well, now that we’ve got that established, what say you we go and wake Cap up? It’s very unlike him to doze on the job.”_

* * *

He’d thought a little of what to say to the others, to Peter, how to best explain that what he’d done was an act of desperation and not… _not really_ …

But Tony will try, he’ll try because he owes this to Peter, owes it to him at least, to free him of the worry that after all the villains and the incidents and attacks, Tony might be the one to take his own life.

* * *

_It’s about 15 minutes before it starts. Tony had scooted out of the way a little, just to let Clint know that he’d listened because he knows that Clint has some control issues after his experience with Loki._

_When Clint starts to groan, infrequently at first, Tony moves back, settling his hands on the archer’s shoulders._

_“I’m thinking that after this whole thing has blown over and the good guys triumph and ride off into the sunset again, we should get some Mexican. You definitely love your tacos and I love my burritos, so you know, genius plan right here. Nat may not like it too much but we have injury-slash-kidnapping points on our side. Plus, Cap loves him some of that carne asada they make really well. Bruce will come along of course and Thor will eat anything, let’s be serious. It’s foolproof.”_

 

_Clint mumbles at first. Just little things that Tony goes with and replies to. And Tony talks, a lot, about things they’ve done and things they should do, always keeping hold on Clint, providing him with a mental and physical tether, encouraging him to fight it._

_Clint starts shaking violently right before he begins to cast his head from side to side, like a spooked horse. He startles fiercely at the slightest touch so Tony keeps his contact infrequent, always announcing each instance loudly. It must be doubly terrifying going through this practically blind, but Tony tries not to dwell on that thought. Things must be taken one step at a time, and there’ll be time for dealing with that later, in the comfort and safety of the Tower and the rest of the Avengers._

 

_Clint’s an hour and a half in when things go to hell. His words are more coherent and fervent, convinced of the truth of the false reality the drugs must be causing his brain to spin. Tony tries his best to calm him down, getting closer. Clint lands a good one on his cheek but it’s the blow to the midsection that leaves Tony gasping for breath._

_“Bet you wanted to that for a while huh? It’s okay, it’s all good, just get it out of your system. Better that you do it now than when we’re home. JARVIS would lock you out of your room for a week and keep your shower water cold. Not saying that I would encourage it, just a fun fact for the day.”_

* * *

“I was _desperate_ , Peter. I was…I _wanted_ …I wanted to get out. That’s _it_. I’m not going to lie to you, there were times when I was younger, that what I wanted was an end,” Tony looks away then, unable to bear seeing Peter’s eyes alight with pain anew, “But now, this time, _this time_ …I just wanted out and I was sick and I wasn’t myself so I just…I got myself out. I _didn’t_ want…an end. I just wanted an out and I got it.”

He stops then, swallowing heavily, unable to keep going.

“I wanted to live Peter. I _want_ to live.”

* * *

_The third time Tony slips and goes in, the water coming up to only the middle of his chest but still the panic rises, dirty warmth in his mouth and eyes and ears, sparks and pain from the leads of the car battery touching water._

_Natasha’s hands are on either side of his neck._

_“You’re okay.”_

_Tony breathes in, exhales, deep and long and loud._

_“You’re okay.”_

_“Yeah, I’m…I’m okay,” Tony responds, maybe believes in one second of spontaneous courage and it’s in that one second that he bends his knees and lets himself plunge fully into the water._

_He comes up sputtering and slightly panicked but the coil has released and he splashes at Natasha._

_“I’ll need to start doing this on my own soon,” He mentions one night, before Natasha can voice what they both know must happen._

_“I know,” is all she says, and that night they don’t swim laps, side by side. They simply sit there, legs in the water, just like in the beginning._

* * *

Peter doesn’t say anything, just sits next to him on the bed. He feels incredibly tired and worn out, like he did after he fought Dr. Connor, after he watched Gwen’s father die and made him a promise he’d known he always intended to break.

He looks at Tony in a sidelong glance, feeling his jaw clench with helpless anger and an inner ache as he sees the way that Tony’s hands shake, and badly.

But things must be taken one step at a time, he’s learned that. So, he smiles and places a hand on the older man’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“I missed you Tony. And I’m just…I’m glad that you’ll be okay.”

* * *

_They bring them to a large room, sit them down in three chairs in the dim lights, gagging Steve and Coulson but leaving him alone. Steve’s is pure steel or something like it judging by its gleam. They inject him with something again, the needle impossibly long and Steve actually winces around the gag so Tony winces right along with him._

_“This place is a dump. Offence fully intended.”_

_Their captor smiles, white teeth gleaming in the dark brown of his skin._

_“It seems that you need to be taught some manners, Mr. Stark.”_

_“It’s been done and tried before, and guess what? It didn’t really stick. I’m not sure you’ll fare better, considering you’ve restrained me and my friends and I want to rip your guts out through your throat so…you know, fair warning.”_

_“I will start off with a gesture of good faith by letting you choose which one we start with. Will it be the good soldier or the good agent?”_

_“How about, fuck you.”_

* * *

 

“How can you know that Peter?” Tony asks, cursing his mouth and the way it doesn’t listen to his brain _at all_.

* * *

_They start with Coulson because they feel like it. Also, the fact that Steve is a super soldier might be a little off-putting at first._

_Either way, they remove the gag and Tony kind of wishes that they kept it on, even if Coulson’s witty remarks are a novel revelation._

_Steve bucks in his seat, no doubt trying to get free._

_Tony settles for slouching in his chair, twisting his hands around and around in the zip tie, looking to break skin because blood is always a good lubricant._

_Besides, the pain around his wrists is distracting, pulling him away from this room, away from the sound of the bastards moving on from a beating to prying fingers from their sockets, Coulson screaming._

_When they get to Steve, they’ve graduated to a blowtorch and a thick screwdriver. They heat it orange and then press it wherever they want, maybe Steve’s neck, maybe his arm, maybe the webbing of skin between his index finger and thumb._

_Steve stays quiet for this part and Tony silently encourages him when he catches the man’s eyes._

* * *

_“You aren’t going to make me talk, you’re not. Plenty have tried and failed and you’re not getting anything out of me motherfucker, so go ahead and take your best shot.”_

_Clint’s been on his feet for the last 25 minutes, pacing furiously. He scratches at the strips tied around his head and Tony quickly smacks his hands away, dodging swiftly. By the time the second hour rolls around, Clint has taken residence in a corner, head in his heads, mumbling again, fighting his demons through fevered and broken words. Tony is leaning heavily on the wall, one hand on the brick and the other clutched tightly to his side, futile but comforting._

* * *

_  
They finally rip hoarse yells from Steve when they bring in some sort of cattle prod, poking at him leisurely and randomly. A jab to his inner thigh actually draws a howl, and they laugh. Tony laughs with them, loud, reveling in the looks of open bewilderment they send his way._

* * *

“’Cause you’re Tony. You built an arc reactor and the world’s most advanced tech in a cave. _With_ a box of scraps. You’re Iron Man and you’re a hero and you’re going to be okay. Promise.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Peter,” said because he can’t think of what else to say to all that, how to respond to such words of support and care that make his throat close up all over again and his eyes water and damn the kid for all his optimism.

* * *

_Steve’s mostly out of it by the time Tony has long-since broken the skin around his wrists and lathered warm, thick blood around the zip ties._

_“I’ll, uh, I’ll do it. I’ve got a few conditions, but I’ll do it.”_

_The leader smiles, motions for his thug to stop as Coulson and Steve’s heads snap up in unison, disbelief warring on their faces with a vague understanding that he might just have a plan in mind._

_“I want to talk with just you though. Those idiots are pissing me off frankly. That’s one of my conditions by the way.”_

_The leader doesn’t even hesitate, sending his men out. “They’ll be just outside, Mr. Stark. And,” he opens his coat slightly to reveal a Glock tucked neatly into his belt._

_Perfect, Tony thinks._

_“Second, some food and water might be nice.”_

_“It can be arranged.”_

_“And lastly, I’d like for that food to be some cheeseburgers and sodas. Scratch the water. No water. Got it?”_

_“Yes, yes, it will be brought to you. Now, what do you require in terms of equipment?”_

_Tony tips his head back and curls his lips, pretending to be deep in thought. The man, as expected and hoped, grows restless in his impatience and moves closer._

_“I’m thinking of all the things I’ll need but in the meantime, I’ve just thought of something else I want. It’s kind of a private thing though so,” Tony gestures with his head for the man to come closer and he does._

_Tony lets the zip tie fall at the same time that he springs upwards, bloodied hands going to the man’s neck before he can shout or go for his gun._

_Tony grips him tight, just like Clint and Natasha have taught him, and twists, placing everything, every ounce of fury, into the movement._

_He lets the man’s body fall to the ground, unblinking as he searches him and takes the gun and a pocketknife._

_He grins at Coulson and Steve._

_“You guys might want to close your mouths. Don’t want to let in the flies and all that nonsense.”_

* * *

But Peter, damn the kid again and again, just grins, wide and toothy and bright,

 

“I know all about promises and how to break them. And this one? This one’s staying, Tony. Now, Gwen is probably, actually _dying_ of curiosity right about now so we should get out of here and put her out of her misery. Also, just a warning, we’re having branzino for dinner.”

“Yeesh! What’s that? I’ve had a lot of dishes in my time –and that’s not leeway to poke fun at my age, by the way, so don’t get any ideas– but I’ve never heard of that. You know what we should do? We should get a cheeseburger. Or shawarma. Shawarma is always good. We should definitely go for shawarma. I don’t know. Whatever you people want. I already submitted my ideas so it’s up to you. But, honestly, branzino? Who _eats_ that?”

 

Peter laughs and follows Tony’s lead.

* * *

_“You’re not real, you’re not. They told me that they would kill you. They told me that they would make me kill you. I’m so sorry Tony, God, I’m so sorry, you’re not real, you’re not, you’re not, you’re not,” Tony feels the anger pulse inside, feels its scorching fire in his blood and he has to bite his knuckles, because Clint is fucking whimpering._

_“I’m right here Clint, I haven’t gone anywhere.”_

_“You’re not real, you’re not, you aren’t real!”_

_“I’m not leaving. I’m right here.”_

_“I’m so sorry Tony, I didn’t want –you’re not real, you’re not.”_

_It hurts but Tony does the only thing he can think of to prove that he’s there, that he’s there and it’s him damn it and he’s not leaving, no matter what._

_He takes Clint’s hand and splays his fingers open, settling it on his arc reactor._

_“Do you feel that Clint? That’s my arc reactor. That’s the glowing blue night-light in my chest remember? It’s warm because of the energy it gives off and its round. It’s right over my heart. You can’t feel the beat because of it, but it’s there. It’s there and I’m alive and I’m right here and I’m not leaving. I’m here and I’m not leaving you okay?”_

_Clint continues to mumble but he stops twisting, allowing his hand to be kept where it is. And Tony’s hand gets tired and keeping it up sustains the licks of fire up and down his side and it’s another two hours before they’re rescued but he stays and Clint stays, silence befalling the cell._

* * *

 

When Steve wakes up, it is to the sound of JARVIS. He has to blink a couple of times in order to convince himself that yes, this is real, and yes JARVIS is back.

"The weather outside is a warm 72 degrees. There is a 45% chance of precipitaion for this afternoon, beginning at 3:00 P.M. There was a robbery at the Wells Fargo bank on 45th, but it was a minor incident handled aptly by local law enforcement. Also, Sir Stark has returned and is currently downstairs with Dr. Banner."

Steve freezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This chapter was incredibly difficult to write because I struggled with how to best portray Tony's attempt on his own life as exactly the opposite, that he wasn't seeking an end but an option to get out. In the end, I'm glad with how his scene with Peter turned out


	10. God of Will, Forgive Us Our Trespasses, We Know Precisely What We Do

He spends the weekend with Peter and Gwen. Their company, and more importantly, the lack of judgment borne of their ignorance, is a balm that washes over the parched surfaces of his heart.

He helps Peter upgrade his webshooters, and the kid doesn’t say anything when Tony has to put the tools down repeatedly because his hands start to shake so badly he might irreparably damage the delicate circuitry.

Gwen talks nonstop; she has always been a kindred spirit in that regard. She is ebullient and friendly and funny and Tony feels so glad that Peter’s found her. He voices as much to her mother, who has gotten over the fact that Tony Stark is a good friend to her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend.

By Sunday night, he’s saying his goodbyes.

“You’re going to see them?” Peter asks, perfectly toneless and that in itself reveals his distress and worry.

Tony sighs.

“Yeah, I…I can’t just leave things the way they are. They’ll come looking sooner or later and I would rather face up to what needs to happen, whatever that may be.”

Peter nods, clearly deep in thought as he looks up at the stars. The Stacy apartment might be small but it’s got a killer view.

“You’re not sure what’ll happen?”

“I’ve uh, had some time to think about it. There’s many options, many possibilities yet none of it matters unless I enter the picture again.”

“Do you think you want–,” Peter pauses, considers his words again, “Do you think you might forgive them?”

Tony’s been asking the same question himself. There’s no easy answer. Not after everything that has happened, because there’s a difference between wanting something to happen and it actually occurring.

But love is a stubborn and obstinate thing, and it had grown and it had grown and it had grown, long before Tony realized what was happening and long after he’d had any real inclination to stop it.

“I don’t know, Peter. I honestly don’t know.”

* * *

_When Steve meets Tony's eyes, he is torn._

_He wants to hug him and he wants to throttle him and ask him why, why, why, why?_

_He wants to say that he's missed him and he wants things to be the way they were. Movie nights and picnics, the first time that Iron Man picked him up and flew him out of danger. Tony's laughter, and his jokes, his rambling and his hand gestures, the puns he never really understands._

_He wants Tony to be okay._

_He wants to say that he didn't know, that it wasn't supposed to happen like this. That when it came time to a decision, all Steve had was the fear in his heart and the fragmented words of assention of a_   _man that had just been coerced into hurting two of his best friends. That when it was time, he said yes, yes, yes. He agreed and sold his soul and threw up after but if the ends don't justify the means what else is there? If hard decisions cannot be made with the hope that they are fueled by the right reasons, what else is there, what else?_

_And that's what we yell back at history, always, always. It wasn't just me, it wasn't just my fault. You didn't know what it was like, how I couldn't sleep, how I cried and how I couldn't look myself in the mirror. You didn't know. There were crimes strewn six ways to Sunday and if you had just...You didn't know and I didn't know._

_But Steve will not lie. He will not pretend and will not hide._

_The team stands behind him, and that's a comfort as they all confess and try to explain._

_Tony remains quiet, lets them finish. Doesn't look at them. And how frightening must it be, when things you love suddenly change from what you've known?_

_Steve watches him, even when the words catch in his throat around the explanation of why Tony is in the hospital, how they were about to get him when he crashed his head against the wall again and again and again._

_He watches Tony close himself up, retreat inside himself, the light in his eyes when he woke up and saw them going out, extinguishing itself as the barriers come up, steel and iron and rock, solid, impervious detachment, in disillusionment, in fading pain._

_And that is when Steve realizes what it truly means to have had and to lose, that God doesn't need to punish us, that we are granted long enough lives to punish ourselves._

* * *

Tony goes back to his Malibu home, arriving quietly.

The house is deserted, empty and clean and quiet. He sets his bag down and immediately goes down to the workshop, entering his key and submitting to a biometric reading.

And then, then he awakens JARVIS.

_“May I say, sir, it is a most wonderful pleasure to see you again.”_

“Thanks, J. Now, let’s wake up the bots okay? Daddy’s home.”

_“Of course sir.”_

* * *

Dum-E whirrs around and around, circling around his body, chirping and U follows suit, wheels squeaking. Tony stops them when Dum-E goes for the fire extinguisher, laughing, feeling some more of the tension in his chest release.

“You guys missed me didn’t you?”

Dum-E nods, great metal arm bowing up and down. 

* * *

When he is ready, Tony locks the workshop doors and stands in the middle of the room, where the assembly line for Iron Man once stood before its movement to New York.

“JARVIS?”

_“Yes, Sir.”_

“I –I need you to show me the files I uncovered right before I went in and the ones during and after. I know what you’re going to say, Jarv. And you may be right. But now…now is the time for the truth.”

_“Though I would recommend that this be done with someone present, I understand, sir. How much exactly do you remember?”_

“Bits and pieces, mostly. Not enough to get the big picture and to be honest, it’s frustrating the shit out of me. And I know that after what happened, what I did… with my head and my brain and everything,” Tony finds his voice going dry, but he swallows and continues, “I know it’s something to do with that but before I go back, before I see them again, I need to know everything. Everything, JARVIS. And I know you’re just trying to protect me, and that, that’s –thank you for that, by the way, I don’t say it nearly enough–”   

_“I will begin with the information preceding your containment.”_

“Thank you, J.”

And JARVIS doesn’t say anything else, no ‘ _you’re welcome, sir’_ or anything like it, and Tony understands that the A.I. is worried, he understands his reserve.

However, he also understands that he needs to know everything that’s happened, unhindered and untainted by his own fallible memory and weary heart.   

So Tony stands there and lets the files show up, encircling him in holographic tiles of information upon information. He sees a sound clip and it stirs something in his brain, something like anger and with a blink, it plays.

 _“Sir–”_ JARVIS begins, but Tony is already too focused and too far away, reliving the unencumbered legitimacy of events, past and painful, through clinical eyes.

* * *

_“A sound clip? Open it up, J.”_

_“Sir, may I advise–”_

_“Look, I know you don’t like hacking into SHIELD databases but we’re on the clock here JARVIS. I need you so don’t make me bench you, all right?”_

_Tony’s body is thrumming with nervous energy. He’s been suspicious for days, the way the others find ways to meet without him present, the way their conversation stopped and steered in another direction two night ago, just as he walked in. Clint and Natasha are perhaps the best spies in the world but Tony doesn’t need training. He’s been reading body language, the spaces between words, and what is and isn’t said since he was a child, back when he’d searched his father’s eyes and seen detachment, a poorly hidden and impervious wall of disillusionment._

_JARVIS hesitates for only seconds and then the noise and static of the file fills up his lab, the voice of a young man no older than seventeen._

_"Oh you heroes and your games! You play the saviors to the masses, bearing crowns of thorns with such dignity and honor! The child through whom I speak adores you! Were he to know how pathetic you really are, the weaknesses rife in your beings... I have seen you, from afar and close, I have tasted your thoughts, seen the shadows in your minds, the darkness that you keep inside and hide and deny. And I found myself thinking of who to choose? Who to play the pawn? The soldier king or the golden prince? Perhaps the black queen? Or should I take the rook, the tower that holds the man prisoner to the beast? Or let it be the bishop, visage keen and aim sharp? And what of the knight, red and gold masking the festering wounds of the guilty?”_

_“Sir –”_

_“I have followed you and I have watched you, seen you derive comfort and companionship from each other, seen you try to absolve yourselves of your sins, as if a life here or a dozen there saved in your name and in your effort could ever wash away the blood that clings to you like so much paint. My aim isn’t justice, or any misguided sense of revenge. I simply wish to enlighten you and show you the truth of each other, not evil per se, but the way of all hearts when fear and pain and fury have stripped off the husks of pretension…and that is why I shall take him first, your armored knight. And for all that you will try, you will not be able to keep him from me, there is no place where he will be safe, not away from you and not among you. I will have him and I will destroy him and then–”_

* * *

“I went after him didn’t I?” Tony asks, stuffing his trembling hands in his pockets because things are starting to slide into place and for all that his mind is remaining detached, if only just so, his body is responding to the turmoil in his chest, “And I didn’t call the others?”

_“No. You found these.”_

Schematics then, of a room all too familiar and Tony finds the breath catching in his throat not simply at the memory but at the scrawl to the earlier drafts, the Stark logo and–

* * *

_“Bring up the other files JARVIS, I want to see what they’re up to.”_

_The plans flash across the screen and Tony feels something tighten in his gut, even as his mind immediately begins to distance itself from the visual input._

_“You know, a year ago, when Fury asked me and Bruce to look into using pockets of vibranium and admantium alloys with pulsatory electrical outputs to create material that could withstand a telepathic attack, I didn’t think he’d have this in mind…so, they plan to put me in this? Is that it?”_

_“Yes,” JARVIS replies, voice tinted with worry, “Although from what I gather, it is a last resort. All of the Avengers have expressed reserve against the idea.”_

_“They think I will be compromised, and if I am, they’ll put me in containment,” Tony says, tasting the words, feeling the bitterness in his tone. “They don’t trust me.”_

_“I don’t think it’s a matter of trust, sir,” JARVIS is patient, “I think it is a matter of your safety and your well-being._

_“JARVIS–”_

_“Agent Barton, especially, believes that if it is the only way to keep you from the threat, it is a viable option. He does not wish for you to be controlled, the way he was.”_

_Tony flinches at that. It’s not often that JARVIS interrupts him, but that, that was something he needed to hear._

_Nevertheless, the resolve is already there, the intention strong in his mind. This is something he needs to take care of, he won’t bow to this threat, this man. He’s been told before that there was no way out, that there was no other option and yet…_

_“Triangulate the position of the latest clip. Send it to the suit, I’m heading out.”_

_“Sir, I ad–”_

_“I’m instituting Execute protocols, code Stark-Alpha-three-hundred-and-sixty-seven. You’ll be restarted when I get back. Until then, full lockdown.”_

_JARVIS goes silent and Tony–_

* * *

“I shut you off?”

_“You did not want me to contact the other Avengers. You wished to go alone.”_

Why, Tony wants to ask. Though he knows the answer. He’d known what he was doing, he’d known how reckless it was. But he’d also known that he didn’t want the others there, not if there was a possibility he could lose control and–

He hadn’t wanted to hurt them. If he lost it, if he was compromised, he hadn’t wanted to _hurt them_. Even then, even when he’d learned they’d been going behind his back, discussing things that concerned him without him, even then his heart had bled at the prospect that he might somehow bring them pain.

“The threat…”

“ _Was made for the fourth time when you had me hack into SHIELD databases. In the first, Captain America was threatened. However, in subsequent messages you were specifically targeted. The clip that you were just listening to ended with Basil Sandhurst outlining his plan to have you torture and kill the rest of the Avengers.”_

The words trigger something in his head, something dark and shadowed, heavy and frightening.

“I found him, didn’t I? I spoke with him, tried to neutralize him?”

_“Yes. You were able to find him and the adolescent that he was using to send the message. You confronted him.”_

“He compromised me. He kicked me out of my own head.”

_“Not at first, sir. You were able to hold him off. You had the version of myself still active in the suit replay the Avenger’s and Miss Potts’ voices, the recordings I’d obtained over the many months they’d spent at the tower. And then the Avengers themselves arrived. Sandhurst had released an array of bots and managed to send out an alert impersonating myself, warning them that you were in danger.”_

Tony thinks he’s starting to remember. The warehouse, the broken windows and bricks, the street lamps and the wide-open entrance–

* * *

_“Mr. Stark. What a pleasure it is to see you.”_

_“Cut the bullshit and let the kid go. I don’t know who you are but let’s handle it, just the two of us, creepy stalker and iron hero. Let’s see who wins.”_

_“I will lose. I was always destined to lose. Just as you were always destined to bleed. And you will bleed, long furrows of crimson as I make you kill the very things you love and protect with the entirety of your shredded heart.”_

* * *

“The boy didn’t make it, did he? He died.”

_“…I…I am afraid so, sir.”_

“I was supposed to save him. And I was distracted. Barton burst in…Coulson was with him.”

* * *

_Tony has him targeted. It’ll be clean and quick, just as it was in Afghanistan, when another bully had a boy in his arms, gun to his head._

_It’s a second’s distraction but it’s enough. It is Hawkeye dropping from the rafters and Coulson from the entrance, him turning slightly, factoring the two in the equation, how to keep them safe and alive, just a second too long and too late as the gun goes off, brain matter and skull fragments painting the dilapidated wall._

_Instinctual, animalistic scream, Hawkeye loosing an arrow as the murderer ducks away, letting the young body drop like it means nothing. Coulson stepping forward, towards him and then–_

_It’s like oil, thick and suffocating, crawling along inside his head, up and around inside his skull, a brutal takeover, a forced eviction._

_He can still see out of his own eyes, and he knows his actions are not his own and it hurts, the pressure in his head as everything dulls and numbs and slows, as he is wrenched from his own mind._

* * *

The memories come hard, and he feels like he’s underwater, the air in his lungs displaced by dirty, warm water as his hands practically rattle in his pockets.

He wonders, offhandedly, how he’s still standing, why he’s still here, why did–

 

Coulson.

* * *

_“Listen to me Stark. You keep him out okay? You keep him out. I know you can do it. You’re one crazy son of a bitch and if there’s anyone out there crazy enough to fight this, it’s you.”_

_Tony fights to listen, fights to focus on Coulson’s voice, sternness belying panic belying hope._

_Coulson believes in him, just as he believed in Phil a year ago, believed that his death could be the beginning of something bigger, something maybe borne of an old-fashioned notion but worthy all the same._

_It’s his voice, strained, and Clint’s, that warns Coulson away._

_But it’s not his arm that rises, not his hand that splays open, not the tiny flick of his thumb that sends a signal up his gauntlet to let power go._

_Coulson moves away just seconds before he fires._

_He hears Clint off to the side, unhidden panic lacing his voice, “Cap, we got a situation here, it’s fucking bad. We need you here ASAP–”_

_Clint is smart, and he moves when Tony refocuses his attention of him._

_But he doesn’t stop talking, and the overwhelming presence inside his head doesn’t like that._

_“It’s the motherfucker, he’s got–”_

_Tony, but not Tony, not really, blasts at him again._

_“–fuck! He’s got Stark. I repeat, Stark’s been compromised.”_

_Tony corners him, wrenches the archer’s arm, relishing the way that bone starts to give in his grip._

_Clint just groans, deep in his throat._

_“Stark –Tony, this isn’t you man. Trust me, I know, I know what it feels like. You’ve gotta kick it. This isn’t–”_

_Tony feels the presence behind him, feels the Other in his brain scream in a delight that shakes him to the core, threatens to drown him as he is forced to feel himself turn and Coulson isn’t fast enough this time._

_The agent is pointing a gun but that means nothing, not against the invincible Iron Man._

_He can see what is happening and he can’t do anything about it and that is just the cruelest injustice in the world as he hears the high-pitched whine of his own repulsors, watches, helpless, as Coulson is knocked back, clattering into industrial barrels and pallets._

_Watches as the energy of the blast sparks up off the concrete into dry, brittle wood._

_Coulson’s scream reverberates inside his head, pounding a merciless beat to accompany the demented laughter and Clint curses, tries to lunge past him._

_He catches his arm again, twisting, grinning as Clint finally howls, drops to his knees, starts to talk, words rushed and alarmed and begging._

_Clint is fucking begging._

_“Tony–”_

_And Tony just grabs him around the neck and throws, feeling sick and alien satisfaction as his friend flies through the air, crashing through glass, landing against brick and trash._

* * *

Tony is having trouble breathing.

His lungs ache from the effort and he has to drop, gracelessly, bringing his knees close to him, settling his head between them.

“I didn’t, I didn’t, I couldn’t have, JARVIS–”

_“Your actions were not your own sir.”_

Tony doesn’t want to say anything.

He wants to sleep and wake up and have this all be a dream, a night terror, something that he can shake off.

He wants things back to the way they were.

_“You regained some form of control near the end sir. The warehouse caught fire and it was starting to collapse. You regained control and you protected Agent Coulson. You crouched over him, let the burning wood fall upon you until you were able to lift him and carry him out.”_

The memories batter against his mind, harsh and unforgiving, barriers gone and it all flows in again as the dams break.

Tony feels the urge again, the urge to crash his head against the floor, the world, anything if things will just _stop._

Stop.

A crushing realization.

* * *

_He is aware of the red, red all over his hands. His faceplate is up, and he smells it, the copper and the charred flesh and the smoke, looks down, the blood, the blood, so much–_

_He sets Coulson down right before he falls to his knees. Sees Natasha and Clint and Steve is standing over him and the thing inside rears, jolting pain inside his skull and he keeps the yell in, clenches his jaw tight._

_He looks up at Steve, meets his eyes, and Tony knows what he must do, knows what it will cost but if it will work…_

_Will it be worth it? He wonders, very afraid, even as he says the words,_

_“Do it,”_

_gives the permission, saves Steve, in some small measure, from having to make the damning choice._

_He feels the needle prick his neck and he knows that when he wakes, it will be a room of his own design, an isolation not of his choosing but if it will stop him, if it will keep the others safe…_

_Will it be worth it?_

_He doesn’t know, can’t know, and still he takes the plunge and welcomes the darkness._

_And maybe that’s how he grants himself absolution._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I hope that this chapter answers many of your questions. If you ever feel the need to discuss anything, just hit me with a comment, I'd be more than glad to address certain things.


	11. So Sure, And So Sure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took, but I promise that this story will be finished by the end of summer -only three more chapters to go after this one. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking around

Tony pauses, lets out a slow, measured breath, trying to regain his bearings, clasping his shaking hands together.

"Jarvis, I want...I want to speak with Sandhurst."

"Sir, I highly advise against it."

Tony's smile is small, "I know, J. But if I'm to move forward...I have questions. You know how well I deal with curiosity."

"Yes, I do."

Tony leaves it at that for a few seconds, moving about his workshop. Dum-E trails him like a lost puppy. It's strange to see that everything is where he left it, preserved. It'd been the same when he was in Afghanistan. 

He starts throwing things around, just to create disorder at first. And then everything catches up to him, emotions spilling over from everything that JARVIS has told him.

The chaos reigns only momentarily, but at the end, his workshop looks like a tornado has passed through.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes sir?"

"I've been having some flashbacks, I don't know if that's the best way to describe them. After, everything, with my head and all that, with my memory a little scrambled...if I mention them, you'll be able to tell me where they fall on the timeline."

"Yes. I keep a constant record of your every activity, Sir, per request."

"I remember fixing something for Thor...a toaster I think? It's hard to recall, I've had to fix a lot of things for him, more than anyone else. Guy has a habit of breaking stuff."

"You outfitted a brand new toaster to handle more pop-tarts, approximately two years ago."

"There's one, with Natasha...she's re-teaching me how to swim, after I asked her, remember how I thought she'd say no? When you said the best course of action would be to straight out ask her?"

"That occurred approximately a year and a half ago."

"There's Clint and I, the first time I let any of them touch the arc reactor."

"A year ago, Sir. Both of you were kept for 2 days and six hours before you were rescued by the others."

"There's one, one with Steve and Coulson. The three of us were knocked out and when I woke up...they hurt them, J, and I just couldn't take it -"

"Nine months ago. You were held for seven hours."

Tony considers this for a moment, scratches absently at his head, slowly remembering.

"Last one. Steve. Steve and I were attending some shtick and there were fireworks and Steve...he and I were watching the stars..."

JARVIS hesistates.

"The event to which you are referring, the NYPD Annual Benefit Gala, occurred the weekend before Sandhurst began his campaign against you and the other Avengers."  

Tony wishes he could turn back time.

He and Steve were so damn close...

"Jarvis, in the end, I told Steve -I gave him permission. To, uh, to put me away."

"...Yes."

Tony crams his shaking hands into his pockets.

"I think I need to go talk to them."

* * *

_Then:_

_As Tony drops the dead man, he takes his gun._

_When the man is on the ground, Tony clicks the safety off and fires two rounds into the man's head, the bang-bang of it impossibly quiet in the still room._

_"Tony?" Steve's voice filters through the thick haze of fury, the voices in his head -protect, protect, protect-_

_"Stark, put the gun down." Coulson's voice is steel._

_"Tony? Tony, come back to us. It'll be okay, come back."_

_Tony feels himself return to complete awareness, the thrill of getting free and getting even fading in his veins, the full power of his mind taking the helm once more._

_He moves efficiently to both men, severing their bonds. Coulson tips forward and Tony grips him, helps him stand._

_Feels Steve's hand on his shoulder._

_"Tony, your wrists."_

_He looks down, at crimson hands. Wow. A little too much like his nightmares for comfort._

_"Who taught you that neck snap?" Coulson. Color back in his face. Providing a distraction. Good. Distraction is good._

_"Barton."_

* * *

It’s hard to think of what could have been. Steve knows this more intimately than most, having spent his early days out of the ice locked away in the gym, throwing everything he had at the punching bag, all the while thinking of Peggy and Bucky and the way that things might have happened in another world, in another reality.

He thinks of that now, of another place and time when he didn’t agree, didn’t take Tony’s words as confirmation, where he placed the value of consent and trust above that of safety and the maintenance of life. Another realm where Sandhurst never existed and the normalcy and domesticity they’d grown to appreciate remained intact.

It’s all too easy to see it, get lost in it, to wander in that other world where they weren’t interrupted that night, where Steve rests on the warm ground, the grass, blinks in the star-lit night, feeling fireworks of his own, deep in his chest as the short hairs of Tony’s goatee scratch against his skin as he finally tastes Tony’s mouth.

In this other, perfect world, he doesn’t let the pain and the worry cloud his mind. He fights the fury in his chest, because he’d be lying if he said he didn’t harbor any anger against Tony, for running off without backup, for placing such a burden on Steve’s shoulders when he’d kneeled there and gave him permission to lock him away, like it was so easy, like the choice didn’t blaze and burn in his heart, an inferno of culpability and shame, the what-ifs beating hard in his head.

_God, Tony...what did I do? What do I do now?_

* * *

_Then:_

_  
__When Spiderman takes a hard hit and doesn't get back up Tony gets worried._

_"Jarvis? Give me Spider Boy's vitals, will you?"_

_"Sir, he appears to be suffering from several broken ribs. Heart rate is slow."_

_"Well, damn."_

_Tony flies to the prone body. Pokes it. "Hey, uh, Spidey. Up, up, up, rise and shine, buddy. Stick around and I'll have to take a looksie under that mask. See who's been swinging around like Roger's and Tarzan's love-child."_

_Spiderman makes no move to stand._

_"Jarvis?"_

_"He's still alive Sir, but deeply unconscious."_

_"Secure a room at the tower okay? Keep everyone out. The itsy bitsy spider is going to need a place to crash."_

_"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sir."_

_"Jarvis, when has that ever stopped me."_

_"You're right Sir. Forgive me for trying."_

* * *

Being back in the tower doesn't feel as strange as he thought it would. 

There's a certain homesickness deep inside that slowly quiets as he roams his floor. 

Running into Clint is completely unexpected.

They both freeze, two men separated by something not easily dispelled. It feels like they're back at the beginning, back when they knew nothing about one another, like all bonds forged through broken bones and blood and tears and sheer will have been dulled.

"Tony."

"Clint."

Tony wants to talk. Wants to say something. He wants, wants, _wants_ -

His hands are trembling, and Clint looks down, face settling into the expressionless look that betrays turmoil more than any frown ever could.

Tony ends up walking away, heart speeding in his chest.

 

 


	12. How Strange, To Hope

_Then:_

_“Look, you either back off or I’ll start pulling projects.”_

_“Are you threatening me, Stark?” Fury’s face is impassive, but his tone is solid rock._

_It’s all right. Two can play that game. Tony’s will is iron itself._

_“I know they’re SHIELD agents, Fury. And I know they’re you’re best. But they’re also Avengers, and when they start going missing or coming home with broken bones, we do notice and we don’t like it one bit. So you start by looking at that contract or I pull all the projects you’ve got me on. And good luck finding anyone else to finish them. I guarantee you no one else can.”_

_For a moment, Fury just stands there, looking at him._

_“So, you want to play babysitter, is that it?”_

_Tony ignores the jab. “Either of them get sent on a mission, Rogers gets a call. If and when back-up becomes an option, another Avenger is the first choice. We always know where they are and why.”_

_“And if I sign this, you’ll get out of my damn office?”_

_“Faster than your one-eye can blink.”_

_“Threaten me again, Stark, and we’ll have a whole hell of problems.”_

_“Looking forward to it.”_

* * *

 

_Then:_

_Hill is almost gaping._

_Natasha wants to laugh. Clint actually chuckles._

_“Stark? You’ve got to be kidding me.”_

_“There is no jest about it. Brother Stark is second in command, should the Captain fall. He is well equipped to lead, and I shall follow him.”_

_“So will I,” Bruce adds, not looking up from his tablet._

_“Me too,” Clint chimes in, finishing his report with a flourished signature._

_“Stark will always put himself in twice as much danger as he will any of us. He’s proven himself. And we_  will _stand behind him,” A glimmer of ice belies Natasha’s casual tone._

_Hill bristles._

* * *

 

_Then:_

_Tony doesn't remember how long they've been there, only that Clint's murmurs have died down, and that the man appears to be occasionally troubled by whatever it is that he sees. Tony's chest hurts, badly, but still he keeps Clint's hand on his reactor._

_Steve finds them like that, almost bent towards each other, Clint's hand on Tony's chest, blue glow scattering around the archer's splayed fingers. Behind him, Natasha moves efficiently, darting forward to a crouch._

_Clint responds to the new presences with alarm._

_"Took you...guys...long enough..." Tony's breathlessness is alarming, "Clint...can't see." Natasha flinches at that, hard, but then she's moving again, leaning in close to Clint, whispering something in his ear._

_"Tony, Tony can you move?"_

_"Yeah, um...how about...no?"_

_Natasha softly pries Clint's hand away from Tony's, "He'll be all right, Stark."_

_"We need to get you out of here."_

_Tony nods. His chest fucking aches._

_Steve's hands go around his back, hitch under his left arm._

_"Lift on...three?"_

_Steve nods, "One, two...three."_

_Tony braces himself but still bites off a cry when Steve helps him up, even as the super-soldier makes every effort to make his firm grip as gentle as possible. Steve cringes, frowns, "Sorry, sorry."_

_Natasha leads Clint ahead of them, hand-in-hand they go._

_Steve is a steady presence at his side, and pressed so close, Tony feels the beginnings of something flutter in his chest._

* * *

Tony wants to run. The urge to flee is strong inside his chest, and he makes it as far as the kitchen before he wills himself to stillness, fingers gripping the edges of the countertop tightly. He can hear footsteps behind him, steady and slow. Clint is giving him time to collect himself, and for that, Tony is grateful.

“If you want me to leave…” The invitation is there, open. Tony wants to take it. Doesn’t want to do this now. Not today and not tomorrow. But he can’t keep living like he has been, not after everything he now knows, the choices they made and the choice he made himself. They’re inside him now, each of them, a part of his heart and who can excise his own heart? For all the power of his mind and the masks he chooses to display, he’s always been unbearably human.

Who is to blame (is anyone?)? Himself, for what he did and what he said, (“ _Do it.”_ ), or them, for what they hid and followed through with?

_Look at what happened, from every side, and consider all the other ways it could have gone._

“No. Just, just stay, okay? And give me a minute.”

Clint doesn’t argue, even if he wants to. He moves past the engineer and takes a seat at the table. It’s uncomfortable, the walls that seem to be between them now, but he sits there and waits, because this is what he owes.

When Tony finally turns to look at him, leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets, Clint doesn’t know what to do.

He looks better, and that’s a grand relief that eases some of the tension he’s been carrying inside since they found out how Tony broke.

 _How they broke him._  

“You look better.”

“Can’t really say the same for you.”

No bite on either side, and yet the ease of the traded words only adds to the pressure, for it is fake, an empty counterfeit of what they used to have  _before_.

“I, I don’t really know what to say Tony. You know I’m shit at this.”

Tony could attack him then, tear him to pieces. But he remains silent, just looking at him, and Clint feels anger start to stir, deep inside. It’s the kind fueled by fear, sickened by a guilt that eats and eats and eats, and Clint wants Tony to react, to scream. To not stand there and act like nothing happened, like he can forgive them because Clint knows what they have done and what they deserve.

“I’m not here to fight you, Clint. I didn’t come here to throw everything in your faces, not like before. I didn’t _know_. Why didn’t anyone tell me what I’d done? I  _told_ Steve to–”

“I was the one that killed the kid.”

Tony stops. Freezes. Looks at him with open, horrified interest.

Clint forces himself to meet his friend’s eyes.

“I was aiming for Sandhurst, and it happened so fast, I was –I was scared. I never fucking miss but I was fucking  _terrified_. He was a telepath, and  _you!_  You went there on your own, by your goddamn self and all I could think about was how I wanted him  _not to take me_. How it felt to have someone else in your head, fucking around like you aren’t even there and I didn’t –I  _couldn’t_ , not again…he was using the kid as a shield and I fucking  _missed._  Don’t you get it Tony? He knew what we would do, how to play us against each other. Knew what it would take to break me, to break you…If I _hadn’t_  –” Clint is standing now, eyes so, so angry and pained. “And then, I wake up, wake up to what you did, what  _I_ did… And when Cap –when he tells us what you said to him…I threw my lot, Tony. I knew, I fucking  _knew_  what could happen, I knew we’d be  _hurting_  you and I –I made my choice, and so did you. Only, I betrayed a friend, I mean we fucking almost  _broke_ you and there’s nothing I can say that can take that back, nothing in this world I can  _give_ … And the honest truth is that I still don’t know if I what I did was worth it…We just wanted to keep you safe, but if you had woken up with others’ blood on your hands…”

Tony takes every word in, accepts it all. He knows what they did and why. Can even appreciate, (now, after days of questioning his trust in them, and his own worth), that they meant to preserve life, save him from condemning himself. He knows perfectly well that he could have killed Clint and Coulson. Anyone. Almost did.

Knows that those acts, even committed unwillingly, would have ripped him to shreds, swallowed him whole and destroyed him in ways that not even the worst villains or the recent actions of his teammates could ever do. 

And yet…

“From the beginning, you could have been honest with me. You could have told me,” Tony realizes he’s raised his voice, and lowers it, “I thought we’d gotten past the mistrust.” He can’t help the hurt in his tone, the raw throbbing, no more than Clint can help his answering flinch.

“We should have, Tony. We should have and I…I wonder about that too, you know? About how things might have been different. We kept you safe, but we didn’t…and if I could do it again, I don’t…I honestly _don’t know_.”

Clint’s eyes tell Tony everything. That Clint wanted for him something he himself did not have. Tony knows the deaths of those agents still weigh on him. Remembers when Clint wrote out letters of condolence by hand, to every single family. Knows that the past has impossibly long claws.

That here is a man punishing himself, more than Tony ever could, because sometimes the teeth at your bones are your own.

“We can’t turn back time, can we?”

“No,” Clint concedes, deflating back into the chair, sinking against its support. He wants to say more, make his apology and his admissions and his confessions more concrete. But there are no more words left on his tongue, just the bitter taste of helpless sorrow.

“But time can move forward, right? It carries on.”     

Clint feels the wish swell in his chest, impossibly sweet and fragile, growing there amongst the bramble and thorns, a soft whisper of a thing.

Tony is–

Tony is throwing him a lifeline; to the man drowning in the ocean of his own transgressions and both their choices.

“Yeah. It does.”

Tony’s smile is small, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes the way it used to. But it’s something, and something is a start.

 

* * *

_Then:_

_Tony can feel the warmth and sureness of Steve's hands on either side of his face. They're an interesting paradox, the both of them, Tony who can show Steve how to fly in so many ways and Steve who is a solid, unshakeable landing point._

_Steve is talking. Talking to him._  

_"Come back, Tony. Come back to me."_

_Tony lets the ire slip away. It reminds him too much of Afghanistan, Yinsen among the rice sacks, the screams and stench of men being burned alive._

_Steve's breath is quick, made so by pain, and yet he stands there like a monolith, as Tony comes back to himself. Coulson is just behind the super-soldier. Tony makes eye contact, and Coulson nods at him, accepting._

_When they make their way out, Tony takes the lead._

_He's tense, still wired from everything that's happened._

_He trips, feet catching on each other as interrupted physics threatens to send him forward._

_But Steve is there, taking his hand, steadying him._

 

_Tony doesn't let go the remainder of the walk._

 

* * *

 

_Then:_

_"There has to be a way, Bruce! Don't tell me you're giving up?" Tony is angry. Bruce struggles to control his own waning temper._

_"Don't be an ass, Tony. You don't think I want to save Steve too? You think I like this? I like watching him die?"_

_Tony recoils at that, draws himself up to his full height, levels Bruce with a stare that rivals the faceplate of Iron Man, "We're going to save Steve, Bruce." And that's all Tony says on the matter before he's spinning around, returning to his work station, barking orders at JARVIS._

_Bruce knows that losing Steve will hurt. Steve is their leader, their friend. But Steve and Tony... Bruce allows himself a minute to wonder why the two of them don't go for it, why they don't throw caution to the wind and decide to find happiness, like him and Betty, or Thor and Jane. Even Clint and Natasha are circling each other with intentions to take things further._

_He risks a glance at Tony. The engineer doesn't notice, too engaged in his work. He's been up for over 36 hours, and he's hunching forward a little more than usual, in that way that Bruce has learned means the reactor is bothering him more than he can ignore._

_The Hulk rumbles inside. He wants to make Baron Zemo pay, for injecting Steve with a poison that is slowly destroying him as his friends scramble to find anything that might bring the nightmare to an end._

 

_Tony has been awake for more than 36 hours, and he's hunching and he's irritable. And yet, his determination continues its brilliant burn._

 

_Tony just doesn't know how to lose, and that, that will always be his saving grace._

* * *

 

Thor finds him on the rooftop garden. It was Natasha's idea, Tony remembers, almost two years ago now, when she had hefted bags of soil and fertilizer to the elevator. She certainly had a green thumb. Everything is growing, and growing well. 

  
The demi-god hesitates before taking a seat next to him. Tony doesn't mind. Not really.

  
Or, that's what he tells himself. 

"I am relieved to see that you have returned, Tony. We were, all of us, anxious to see you..." Thor trails off uncertainly, shifting in the garden chair, “When my father cast me down to Midgard, powerless, it was to teach me humility. That a leader, a ruler, should consider himself as one of his people, and not above them. That arrogance is a fickle thing best expunged from one's decisions and being.”

Thor is running his fingers through a nearby plot of daffodils, large hands very, very gentle.

“I had thought my lesson learned, and yet, I find that I have again fallen to it. It was arrogant of me, of us, to believe that we knew what was best for you, without your consult. To think that our actions were warranted, and unquestionable in their righteous intentions. To hope that you might wave the act away, that you might not have suffered needlessly."

Tony doesn’t really know how he should respond, what he should say. Clint was…there was a reason that he chose to speak to Clint first. The archer had been in the same position, forced to do terrible things against his will, things that he will always carry with him like scarred over wounds. It is something none of the others can really understand, and something Tony cannot credit them for, not like Clint.

“I think I understand you a little better,” Tony blurts out, absently running his fingers through a nearby fern. They’re unsteady, and they catch on some leaves that flutter slowly down. Thor looks puzzled.

“All those times, with Loki…I could never really understand how hard it was for you, how much work it is to continue trying and loving somebody that has hurt you,” Thor’s face falls, “I’m trying Thor, I’m…trying, ok? But how did you –how did you let go?”

Thor considers this, hands now in his lap. “I do not think you ever can. You only look forward, remember that the past is with you, and all the memories that made it worth it are there also. I am truly grieved that I cannot provide further guidance, nor can change the past. For what it means, I wish now that we had had more time. I wish I could go to my father, or even Loki himself, attain a means to bend time, end the fiend before he had a chance to even think of harming you or anyone. However, I must be truthful with you, I refuse to lie, and I will not shed my responsibility in what was done against you. If you so desire, I will depart from your home immediately, yet not before I say this: What we did was done in all good intention. We only ever sought to keep you safe, that you might not be used as a puppet for evil deeds. Changes could have been made, I will not deny you that. But if your life were at stake once more…” Thor sighs, raises himself up, “We must save your life first, that is the vow under which I serve Midgard, and the Captain, and you. It is to that end that I shall always pledge myself to.”

Tony can appreciate Thor’s honesty, the courage that it takes to speak one’s mind. It’s easy to write off the demi-god, say that he’s an alien, separate from humanity and therefore the emotions and fallacies that are par for the course.  But Thor is just as human as they are, just as prone to make mistakes, his family just as dysfunctional as ones on Earth. Tony thinks of Loki, of the millennia that the liesmith and Thor have shared.

“There are no words to convey how sorrow weighs in my heart for how deeply we misjudged the possible consequence of our actions. But I offer you my sincerest apologies, Man of Iron, though they may be but paltry supplications,” with that, Thor stands, and before Tony can even say anything, the crown prince of Asgard is bowing deeply to him, golden tresses curtaining his face from view.

“I’ll keep trying, Thor. That’s all I can promise.”

Thor stands then, “That is all I can ask for.”

As Thor is walking away, Tony sees Mjolnir a ways off, sitting near the plot of dandelions, Thor’s favorites. 

Thor catches his line of sight, stares at his hammer fondly, and stretches his hand.

When nothing happens, the demi-god smiles ruefully, but acceptingly dropping his arm back to his side. 

“I’m not worthy of her yet.”

 

* * *

 

_Then:_

_Peter wakes up with a groan, immediately aware of the fact that his mask is still in place. He is relieved until he thinks more closely about what he is laying on. Consciousness slams back into him then and he launches upright, ignoring his body’s protests._

_“Oh, good. Glad you’re awake. I was about to have JARVIS start notifying next of kin,” None other than Tony Stark saunters into his field of vision, “You have a couple of cracked ribs, some sprains, bruises, nothing too grave. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve relocated you. You were going to get squashed, so, you know, you’re welcome.”_

_Peter doesn’t know what to say. Is this guy for real?_

_“You can’t just go around kidnapping people!” Peter splutters before he can control himself, awfully aware of just how childish he sounds._

_“Relax, Pete, can I call you Pete? Petey? Too much?”_

_The anger in his gut solidifies and Peter is springing off the bed now, intent on leaving as quickly as possible._

_“I didn’t cheat, if that’s what’s got you worked up.”_

_“Cheat?” He all but growls. Who knew Tony Stark was such a dickhead?_

_“Take off your mask, run fingerprints, etcetera, etcetera,” Tony’s hands are in full motion, “You’re small enough, voice, no offence, not the deepest baritone in the choir. Therefore, not an adult. Close, but the waitress isn’t buying it, so no dice on that martini you wanted. You saved a girl last week, took a nasty hit to the side from a Doombot. Now, I’m not saying you wouldn’t do that for the average Joe or Jane but the way you handled her was something else, like the Hulk handles Betty. I looked her up of course, pure scientific curiosity, just testing a hypothesis. Relax, not trying to steal her from you. Anyway, I came across Midtown High School, did a search of the student body, hacked some servers…you had perfect attendance up until about 5 months ago. High grades, so not the type to skip for funsies. Couple of teachers concerned over your wellbeing, as, apparently, you show up looking like someone’s been laying into you at home–”_

_“Enough.” Peter says calmly, not needing or wanting to hear more. Stark is as brilliant and annoying as everyone seems to say._

_Tony, surprisingly, shuts up, goes back to tinkering with something before tossing it at Peter. He catches it easily, unease growing when he realizes that it’s one of his shooters, but_ modified.

 _"It's ingenious, by the way. Not something I say often, but hey, you're good. I changed the casing though. Steel aluminum alloy, still light, very waterproof."_  
 _Peter has many questions but he settles for, "why are you doing this?"_  
Tony smiles, "I knew your father you know. Back when I first took control of Stark Industries. The biotech department was flagging and I offered him a job but then, we were a weapons company. People rarely have the guts to tell me off, especially to my face. He said I had power I was abusing. A responsibility I was taking for granted. Something to that effect. Didn't really understand until years later."  
Peter stills, transfixed. He knows so very little about his father.  
"What do you want form me?"  
"Nothing. Just giving you some advice. You don't have to do it alone." And then Tony extends his hand, like they're equals. No lecture about the danger, about how young he is and what he shouldn't do.  
Peter takes it, grip firm, "Peter Parker, Spider-Man."  
Tony grins, "Tony Stark, Iron Man."

* * *

Tony walks into Bruce’s lab without preamble. While Bruce appears engrossed in his work, switching dutifully between his notebook and his microscope, Tony can easily tell that he is distracted. He wants to take a break, go to his own lab and do something that doesn't send his heart racing as he struggles to maintain a veneer of calm. But he is buoyed by his progress with Clint and Thor, and the fact that he has yet to run into Steve.

He instantly notes that things are different. Most importantly, Bruce has limited his work to one solitary lab table near the far end of the wall. The other tables, usually full of computers and test tubes, sit empty. Tony narrows his eyes. Bruce is planning on leaving.

“So, what time is the flight?”

Bruce rounds on him, looking like he’s seen a ghost.

“Jesus, Tony, what– I could have–“

Normally, a flustered Bruce is a mission accomplished. But today, the man before him is honestly stricken, even if no green shimmers across his skin.

“I’m back.” Tony says, adds a small and genuine smile, and settles his hands behind him on the counter. Bruce catches them anyway. It’s hard not to, when Tony usually uses his hands and arms when he talks, gesturing, moving, touching.

Another pang of regret in his chest, another nail hammered into his consciousness to count for all the hurt he’s caused, voluntary and involuntary.

“Tony, um, you look good. Better. Um, crap... I’m not –not too good at this.” Bruce wrings his hands, resists the urge to remove his glasses.

Tony seems nonchalant, almost calm. But Bruce knows him better.

 _Do you?_ A voice inside rumbles, sounding not like the Hulk’s but his own, coated heavily in disappointment.

“You don’t need to escape you know. I came back to try to fix things. Have some discussions. Be…mature? Responsible?”

Tony is smiling, so Bruce tries, tries to get the corners of his mouth to climb up, tries to recall how easy things were between them.

But the truth is that that understanding has been weakened, if not destroyed, and Bruce has no one to blame but himself. This time, the monster was not green and large and powerful. It was him, Bruce Banner alone; an average sized human being that didn’t know how to protect his friend.

“Tony, I can’t stay here. Not after what I was party to. Not after what we did to you.”

“And all of you neglected to mention that I had agreed to it. Told Rogers to do it.”

An undercurrent of anger there, just below the surface, and Bruce marvels for a moment at Tony’s control.

“Tony, you weren’t in a position to agree. Not fully.”

“Yet I did. I did and what was done was done, and now I’m here, I’m back, trying to fix things. Or is that not possible anymore? Is that what you want to say Bruce? Where are you even going?”

“You’re not supposed to be the one fixing anything!” Bruce bursts, matching Tony’s rising volume easily.

Both men freeze, Bruce more so.

But the beast doesn’t stir.

“I messed up Tony, why can’t you– From the beginning, the very beginning, you were the one that believed in me. The one who didn’t react with fear or trepidation. And I, I took that and I broke it, Tony. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to, I didn’t agree at first, but I just –“ Bruce is aware that his voice is hoarse, that he’s clutching his glasses like a lifeline liable to break, “We were trying to keep you alive, Tony. And in the process, we lost sight of, of, of even considering what it might do to you!”

Bruce drops his eyes.

“The, uh, Other Guy, he kept –kept asking for you. I’ve actually been benched this whole time. Can’t get him to come out… I think he’s angry.”

A beat of silence, before both of them process what Bruce has just said.

And then, laughter, deep and desperate but no less pure. Tony has to lean back on the counter to support his shaking frame and Bruce tries and fails to hold onto his glasses.

For that moment, they forget and remember everything.

“Wow, that was just, one of your best lines ever, Bruce, I have to hand it to you, seriously,” Tony’s still grinning, and it reaches his eyes.

Bruce wonders, own mouth still held in the lingering form born of laughing. Can it really be this easy?

New warmth sears in his chest for the man before him. He’d always known that Tony had a big heart, that he hid it so perfectly and completely so many believed the lie and never had the opportunity to experience Tony for who he really was, the greatest friend that Bruce had ever known.

“I’m not going alone. And I’m not leaving forever, just…until I get my bearings back I guess.”

“And which country will be host to your penance activities?”

Bruce shakes his head, trying and failing not to smile. “Betty really took a liking India.”

“Smart man, giving the girl what she wants. Which is only fair really, she has to deal with your celibacy,” Tony ribs good naturedly, “Bring her around the tower when you get back. I’m sure she’d love to play with all the shiny toys.”

Bruce nods, feeling like he wants to say more but not wishing to spoil the moment, this level of peace that they’ve reached.

Tony’s stomach rumbles.

“Uh oh, hunger calls. JARVIS? Get me some food will you?”

Tony is turning to leave when Bruce catches his arm.

“I was waiting for you to get back. I didn’t want to leave before I saw you, with my own eyes, saw that you were…better. Okay. And I wanted…Tony, what happened. What you did, did you mean it?”

Tony remembers Bruce’s words, spoken nearly 2 years ago, _I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the Other Guy spit it out._

“I would have taken out the arc reactor,” Tony answers easily.

It’s the truth. Even now, only Pepper and Steve know how to remove and replace the arc without triggering the self-destruct mechanism. Only JARVIS knows where the spares are. By the time things could have been mobilized, and after all the close shaves he’s already had, he’s sure his heart would have stopped.

Bruce knows this too, and chooses in that moment to ask no more. He knows how far he can push, how much he is now entitled to knowing.

The answer is enough and he lets go of the other’s arm.

“I’m…thank you.”

Tony nods and starts to walk away once more.

“Take your phone with you. Might pick your brain once in a while. Also, check out Akathiyoor. There’s a little car shop there, and a fantastic mechanic that’ll set you up with a room if you need it.”

When Tony is gone, Bruce slips back into his seat, still drained. But there’s lightness there too, that wasn’t there before.

 

* * *

_Then:_

_“We need a decision, Captain,” Fury repeats. Like he’s out of patience. Like they’re simply giving a status report._

_“You’re not the one being locked away,” Bruce growls, and forest green shines brightly in his eyes. The Other Guy is livid. Fury is undeterred, “I’m not the one who went solo to confront a psychotic telepath and almost killed two men.”_

_The words sting, but they’re the truth._

_Steve’s mind is whirling, like a helicopter caught in a tailspin, an inevitable crash to earth._

_“The Man of Iron assented to his containment. He was aware long enough to realize what he had committed, and saw that the best option was this one. We must honor his brave decision.”_

_“It isn’t really a decision!” Bruce shouts, “He was aware for a few seconds, right after he was forced to attack two of his friends. You can't honestly believe he was in any position to consent!"_

_"You weren't there!" Natasha is in the conversation now, voice sharp as steel, "You didn't see what he did to Coulson or Clint."_

_Bruce draws back at that. Coulson is still in the ICU. He'd been fighting for his life just a few hours prior. He decides to change tactics._

_"Look, we need some sleep, some food -"_

_"This isn't a matter that can wait, Doctor," Fury interrupts, "We can't keep Stark sedated forever. There's no telling what Sandhurst's next move is. He was able to control three people at once, all without even being in the room."_

_"Then why aren't we joining Tony in the cage?" Bruce is pacing restlessly now. He knows he's starting to scare his teammates, but this...what they're asking him to agree to... "We are all dangerous in some way or another."_

_Fury's responding sigh is angry. "No threats were made against you. Sandhurst could have targeted any of you. For whatever twisted reason, he chose Stark. Only made a move on Stark. We need the rest of you to find him. He is a highly volatile enemy, and we need him out of the game as soon as possible."_

_"He doesn't even remember anything," Bruce adds, aware that he's grasping at straws, "And you want us to keep it that way? To keep him in the dark?"_

_The few times that Tony fought off the drug, he showed no indication of recalling what had happened, what he had done._

_"There's no telling what will happen if we tell him what he was involved in," Fury presses, "We don't know anything about how Sanhurst's powers work, or how far his reach is. Telling Stark that he almost killed two Avengers compounds the risk!"_

_"Tony could help. He'd want to help. I don't have to speak for his intelligence or his persistence. Both are invaluable."_

_"And both are the very reason why Stark can be a powerful threat," Fury warns, voice steady, "Stark has everything at his disposal, and if he can't buy it, he'll sure as hell make it. His IQ is off the charts, his processing speed like nothing that's ever been seen. In the wrong hands, these things become as perilous as anything the Avengers have come up against, if not more."_

_They all fall silent at that, a heavy lack of sound that settles on them like lead weights._

_"I'd have wanted it," Clint finally adds, the first time he's spoken during the whole meeting. "If someone had given me the chance, to become Loki's puppet or get locked away, I'd have chosen the latter every time," Clint can barely sit up without wincing, but his voice is firm as he makes his confession. "I know Tony. If he'd have killed us...Coulson...he'd never forgive himself. That blood is always on your hands. Always. And that, that kind of shit eats you alive."_

_Bruce wants to say something, but finds himself without any words. Only a foreboding deep in the pit of his stomach that stirs the beast inside._

_"I agree with Clint. Stark already takes the blame for things that aren't even his fault. Mind control or no, he'll take it hard if he hurts anyone else."_

_Thor nods at Natasha's words. "These actions are regrettable, but necessary. Shield brother Tony's life is the foremost priority. Whilst he is in containment, we must search for the villain quickly, and bring him to justice for all the grief that he has caused."_

_"Well, what can I do? What more can I say? I'm not comfortable with this decision. I hear what you all are saying, and I know that none of you, none of us, wants anything other than what's best for Tony. I don't think he'll see it our way, I mean, he'll be furious," Bruce runs his hand through his hair, too tired and too alone and too shaken to articulate what he wants to say, "but if we can keep him safe... If we can guarantee that he'll come out of this, I can't disagree. No matter how much I want to."_

_And then, they're looking at Steve._

_Like he has all the answers._

_Of course. Steve Rogers, Captain America, the man with the plan, the man with the unshakable moral compass._

_They look up to him, each one of them. He has yet to fail them, to lead them astray or make the wrong call._ _He's the leader for a reason, they follow him for a reason._

_And right now, he feels like Atlas, the weight of the world on his shoulders and what is he supposed to say to that? What can he do now? Shake the weight off, pass it to someone else? Call up the Hulk, say, here, hold onto this for a while, let me think, God, let me think, because I can't. I can't. How can I make the best decision, how can I try to be impartial? This man, this man that I love with all that I am, went alone to confront a devil, and then he came to me and kneeled before me and looked me in the eye, and gave himself into my hands. He thrust his freedom forward, and his trust, and what do I do now? What do I do, what do I do, what can I do? He said yes, and spared himself, the son of a bitch, like it would be so easy, like he meant nothing to me, why isn't here now? Why doesn't he remember? Why isn't he here to stop me, please, someone stop me, stop this!_

_Natasha's glance bears pity. He confided in her. She alone knows how deeply he loves Tony._

_He can see it now, Abraham setting what he most loved upon the altar, flame in hand, only the best intentions in his heart. He can see it, so clearly, whereupon no angel descends from heaven, and with a heavy hand he reaches forward and sets his world alight._

_"It's up to you, captain," Fury prods, waiting._

_They're all waiting, and Steve hates them in that moment. Every one. Hates Tony most, because Tony came to him and gave him permission to do it, and what will Steve do now?_

_Either way, either way, little soldier. Turn left (Tony goes free, Tony kills, them or anyone, dies himself, because it could come to that couldn't it?), turn right (Tony is put away, not knowing why, betrayed), turn around and around little soldier._

_March, left, right, left._

Either way, either way, little soldier, you are damned. 

_"Tony will be placed into containment until such a time that we determine he and everyone else is safe. It's done."_

* * *

 

Three down and four more to go. Almost a majority. The success burns brightly, even if dampened by the kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with physical effort but emotional control and outpouring. He’s rounding the corner, about to ask JARVIS for some food options when he runs into Steve. Not so much runs into him as he sees him coming, and Steve sees him. The soldier stops in his tracks, like a deer caught in the crosshairs. He pales, shoulders stiffening and Tony recognizes motions that set up a body to flee. He could say something. But Steve…Steve is last on the list, for so many reasons. So he stays quiet, lets the unbearable silence continue.

This time, it’s Steve who turns and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overall, I'm happy with how this chapter turned out. It was very hard to write, mostly because each of Tony's talks with a respective Avenger, had to sound in-character and organic. I couldn't force them to grovel at his knees for forgiveness, but I couldn't also just put them together again and have them move on. 
> 
> The discussions are messy, and not everything is resolved, but I feel that that most closely approximates real life, where endings aren't always perfect and human beings have various reasons for doing what they do.


End file.
